You Know That It Could Be So Simple
by shannondoll
Summary: Lately it's been nothing but arguments and uncomfortable bouts of silence. Dean's hiding something and Sam's determined to find out what.
1. Chapter 1

"Awesome job missing that turn."

"Dean I swear to God. Shut up."

It was well past three in the morning. Buckets of rain poured down on the Impala; the windshield was thick with water, its wipers fervently whipped, trying, to no avail to clear Sam's line of sight. His large hands gripped the wheel hard enough to drain all color from his knuckles.

"You have no idea where we are." It wasn't a question. Dean glared momentarily at Sam, as his fingers rubbed carelessly at his tired eyes.

They were both agitated, not to mention extremely uncomfortable. Sam was pissed at Dean for making them leave their warm motel room to sit in the car for seven fucking hours, in the middle of a goddamn hurricane, to drive cross-country to work a hunt. A hunt that, mind you, wasn't even really that important. Yeah, lives were at stake, but they always were. They sure as hell didn't need to leave in the middle of the night like a demon was hot on their ass. I mean yeah it was an interesting gig, but then again they always were - just not interesting enough to sit in the cramped car with your ticked off brother, starving, exhausted, and with your ass numb. Sam was furious at his brother but even more so at himself for letting Dean drag him along in the first place. Though, lord knows, he had no clue why Dean was mad at him and acting like a complete prick.

"Why didn't you take that last turn like I told you to? You see this? It's called a map. When I say turn, you turn." Dean's words came out like a whip. His tone held that rough, authoritative edge that uncannily matched their father's. "You've got us so turned around." He shook his head in exasperation, and went back to starring out the window.

Sam hated when Dean got like this, like their father always did when he got himself into "drill sergeant mode". What he really wanted to do was to tell Dean to shut up with the attitude already because it wasn't helping anything. Instead, he decided against it and concentrated on keeping them from crashing into the nearest telephone pole.

"We're not lost." Sam cautiously leaned forward towards the dashboard with his squinted eyes intently focused on following the tiny reflecting lights as the road sharply curved. He glanced at his brother who was glowering at nothing in particular, his angled jaw tightly clenched.

Feeling Sam's eyes upon him, he turned his head to glare in response. "Quit staring."

"What the hell is your problem, Dean?"

"You."

Sam huffed and Dean scowled – frowning was fast becoming the only expression either of their faces held. Moments like this were steadily becoming routine. Lately each day seemed to consist of nothing more than arguments and uncomfortable bouts of silence. Sam hoped that this newfound unease was just because they'd spent too much time together – close quarters and all that - though lately there began to stem a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach; something wasn't right.

Dean licked his lips then opened his mouth to speak. "Would have been there already if I was driving." He mumbled as another loud crack of thunder sounded outside.

"I said you could have drove, Dean…" Sam sighed.

"And what? Have you nag at me until we reach Georgia? No thanks."

"We should have stayed at the motel one more night. Should have waited 'till the weather cleared - like I said. "

"No way. Seven days in that hick town, every case we found was a bust; the TV was broken along with the fridge and everything else. I was starting to go stir crazy."

"Still don't understand why we had to leave in the middle of the night…" He trailed off as his eye caught the movement of something in the distance.

"Uh, because there are people out there that need saving and that's sorta what we do. And because Bobby asked us to do him a favor." His voice sounded with finality. He took a quick drink out off the coffee thermos that rested between them. "But mostly because I was sick of being stuck in the room with you." He smiled mockingly at Sam.

"Oh and us stuck here in the car is so much better."

"I'm so sorry." He began sarcastically. "How about you go and buy yourself a car that way you don't have to keep riding in mine. You know if you're sick of this whole hunting thing—"

"You're seriously going to bring that up again?"

"Let me know if you're done, Sam, and I'll be more than happy to drop your ass back off in California." He disappointedly threw the empty thermos into the cluttered back seat, which landed in between a wrinkled pile of button down shirts and a discarded fast food wrapper.

"So that's what this is about?" Sam rounded in on him.

"What?"

"You're upset because you think I'd rather not be here? Hunting with you? Is that it?"

"Oh God, don't start with the psychology crap again–"

"No, Dean, I'm serious. What's going on with you? I've put up with your bullshit for the past few weeks and I'm sick of it. You're tense, you're pissed about everything, you don't talk to me anymore –"

"I'm talking to you right now!" Dean's voice was sharp with anger, his eyes narrowed together. He did not want to talk about this right now.

"You're yelling! Not talking! So if shouting at me counts, then yeah you're real chatty!" His voice grew louder with every word; the fact that the road was steadily becoming more and more blurred wasn't helping his agitation.

Dean's eyes were fixed intently on his brother. "You done?"

He chewed angrily on his bottom lip and focused his eyes on the passing trees. "How many more miles after I-75? I don't even know if we've reached Tennessee yet."

He looked down at the crumpled map in his lap and loudly exhaled. "We should only be an hour or so out from here…"

Sam looked over at him, hesitant whether or not to continue the conversation. He cleared his throat and cautiously began, "Can I just ask, I mean, did I do something?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Would you stop already?"

"It just feels like you're keeping something from me." He peered over at Dean for any sign, any flinch of composure, that would give away whether or not he was hiding something.

"Stop talking and drive. Or better yet pull over and I'll drive. That way we'll get there before next week."

"So there's nothin' you wanna tell me?" His voice was patient and calm yet Dean could tell the question was aimed to go deeper than casual conversation.

"I dunno, Sam. What do I have to say to get you to shut up?"

The sharp crack of thunder brought their attention back to the road. Sam rubbed his hand over the fogged windshield in a circular motion. "Hey, can you tell what that says?" He pointed at a crooked road sign a few yards away.

Dean didn't glance up. "Ah, nope."

As a truck passed the Impala a huge wave of street water splashed across the windshield.

"This is ridiculous." Sam sighed and rubbed a frustrated hand through his hair. He quickly glanced behind him and spun the wheel causing the tires to peel and swerved into a parking lot. The place was a complete dump – not to say it was any different from their normal resting spots. The sporadic flickering of the muted orange lights that lined the rickety buildings had nothing to do with approaching spirits but more to do with the old age of the place. The almost empty parking lot consisted of nothing more than a few rusted trucks and an old Harley. Sam parked the Impala close to the building, the tires made a loud screeching noise as the rubber connected to the slick blacktop.

Dean turned to face him with wide eyes, "And we are…?"

"Staying at a motel." He jerkily put the car in park. The low growl of the car engine along with the steady pelting of rain was the only sounds amidst the silence of the night.

Dean searched Sam's face with a questioning look. "I said we're only a few hours out."

"So?"

"So drive."

"No." He knew he sounded childish but he didn't care. It was way too late and he was too damn tired. "I'm exhausted. You're exhausted. Let's just get some sleep and leave in the morning."

"I'm not paying for a room if we're only staying a few hours, Sam. We're getting back on the road and we're driving until we get there."

"No." He repeated with conviction this time, though even to his own ears he sounded like a bratty little brother.

Dean swiftly got out of the car and made his way around to the driver's side; throwing the door wide open. "Get out."

Sam looked into Dean's storming eyes like he was completely insane.

"Get out. I'm driving." He noted the urgency in his own voice.

"No. We're not driving any more tonight." He undid his seat belt. "Look at it out here, the wind is picking up, the rain is pouring down. I can't drive in this."

"Then give me the damn keys."

"I'm not giving you them to you when you're acting like this, Dean. We're staying."

Dean went to grab for the keys but Sam quickly turned off the ignition and pocketed them in his hoodie.

"You know what, forget it." He put his hands up in defeat. "I need to get away from you before I do something I regret." He slammed the car door in Sam's face and walked straight into the main building without another glance behind him.

"Fucking jerk." Sam quietly hissed. The hard pelts of rain made popping noises on the roof. He roughly jammed the keys back into the ignition so he could keep the heat going until Dean came back. He turned on the radio and sat fuming in the silence, musing over the same worries that had been evading his every thought for the past few weeks. The wailing screech of metal guitars and pounding drums from one of Dean's old Metallica tapes bellowed loudly through the speakers. For some freakish reason the noise calmed his nerves- not that he would ever admit to Dean that he actually liked his damn rock tapes.

It didn't make any sense, this intense rage Dean had towards him lately. Nothing really happened to set him off. It's not like asking him would help. No, if he tried to get Dean to – God forbid – share his feelings all Sam would receive would be a glare, a smartass comment, and an excuse about how 'he's fine'. Sam was accustomed to dealing with Dean's sudden outbursts. Hell, it was engrained in his being. When things got stressful, when life got a little too uncomfortable, a little too uncontrollable, Dean got belligerent and Sam got moody. They'd get bitchy for a short while, find something to shoot and move on. This time was different, though. This whole pissed-to-the-extreme exterior with really no rhyme or reason, it didn't make sense. Sam couldn't help but notice that Dean's present actions seemed to be forced, like he was trying too hard at being angry. It seemed as if for some messed up reason he was putting on an act. Though that made absolutely no sense because what's the motive? What's the payoff of acting like a jerk to your baby brother?

With a glance at the rearview mirror he saw Dean walk out of the dumpy building dangling a set of keys in his hands. Sam opened the creaky car door and grabbed all the bags out of the trunk. His long legs walked swiftly across the slick blacktop coming to rest under the neon blue awning just as a bright flash of lightening lit up the sky.

"Here." Dean handed a key to Sam once he came to a rest in front of him. A few drops of rain trickled down his freckled nose.

Sam shook his hair like a newly bathed dog – drops of water shot out in ever direction. His wet bangs flopped down over his eyes. "My arms are full. You have hands, open the door."

"No" His hand gestured the key dangling on Sam's finger. "That's the key to your room."

Sam's stomach did a slight back flip then plummeted like a lead rock. Since when did they ever stay in different rooms? A month ago they were hunting some weirdo perverted poltergeist in the girls' dorm at Indiana University. Sam had been sick with the flu and coughing up stuff all over the place and even then they stayed in the same cramped motel room. Hell, he even retched all over Dean's boots that night and instead of kicking him out he went down to the nearest 7-11 and brought him back a crappy cup of soup. So what the hell was with the need of separation all of a sudden? Sometimes he wanted to physically pin Dean down and force him to explain what thoughts went on in that broken head of his. Pinning him down might actually work, he thought. He did have the height advantage.

"…My room?" The words came out slowly, incomprehension etched across the wrinkled lines on his forehead.

Dean winced slightly in reaction to the sound of Sam's hurt voice, but he quickly shook off the guilt, immediately recovering his impenetrable, guarded wall. "Uh, 215, right down there." He nodded towards second set of buildings.

"Thought you didn't want to pay for one room, so what? You get two instead?" Sam's head tilted to the side and his lips pressed out in an aggravated frown.

Dean ignored the question and quickly turned on his heels, walking off in the opposite direction. "Don't take off somewhere." He called over his shoulder. "I'm not in the mood to go chasing after ya."

"Dean, come on." Sam pleadingly called to his back, awkwardly shuffling the bags. "This is stupid. You're seriously this mad at me?"

"Night Sam." Dean disappeared into his room, the slam of the motel door flickered the broken light on the wall.

'Yeah, this is just great.' Sam thought to himself as the wet duffle bag slipped out of his fingers and onto the rocky pavement. He stood there for a moment contemplating whether knocking on Dean's door would be a good idea. But he knew he wouldn't answer. If Dean wanted to get away from him, he might as well leave him alone.

With a sigh he bent down to grab the dropped bag and begrudgingly walked off in the direction of his room. A final crack of lightening cast a sharp white glow across the sky as the rain continued to poor down.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean couldn't help but slam the door loudly behind him. Right now he hated everything and everyone. The world could fucking explode and he'd be more than happy to sit back and watch. He flipped on the muted lights then walked swiftly into the cramped bathroom and turned on the faucet. He felt shaky and nauseous and guilty. God, feeling guilty was the worst. The coldness of the water felt refreshing against the warm flush of his skin as he rubbed his rough hands over his face.

He wanted to erase what had happened in the last five minutes. That image of Sam's confused face looking down at his room key was unbearable. But it was all for the best. It was for the best, wasn't it? He didn't know what was right anymore. Everything was so freaking messed up. "Dammit!" He shouted into the mirror and continued to stare at his reflection as if his mirror-self had the ability to shout back. If it could speak it wouldn't have anything helpful to say, just that he was being a spineless bitch about the whole thing.

He roughly smacked the chunky cabinet with the toe of his boot and in a fit of rage kicked anything that came within a two-foot perimeter of his outstretched leg including the ceramic toilet and the polyester covered plunger holder. He immediately regretted the tantrum the moment his toe cracked firmly against a crooked nail that surfaced itself from the uneven floorboards. "Shit shit shit." He winced as he limped over to the bed and harshly whipped his mud-clad boots against the wall. "I can't do this anymore!" He yelled to no one in particular as he glanced around the room. The gross brown and orange striped wallpaper and faded wood fixtures looked as horrible as he felt.

Sam had it all wrong. He wasn't mad at him. He was mad at himself. He hated himself for feeling what he did, for thinking about Sam in that way. It wasn't healthy and it wasn't natural, but there was nothing he could really do to stop it.

He'd given up months ago. Accepted the fact that his feelings were fucked up to the highest degree, that he'd reached the point where he was too far gone to deny it. Pretending sure as hell wasn't helping - not that he could pretend for much longer. The quick and unexpected surges of wanting now raged on as full-fledged desire - constant and nagging even when Sam wasn't near him.

Part of him wondered if Sam knew.

All the stolen glances, having to abruptly leave the room, the made-up excuses that allowed him to escape long enough to ease the sharp pain of wanting he felt…of course Sam knew, he thought bitterly, he always knew. Well maybe Sam didn't know the whole truth. At least not about the desirability and the salaciousness and what not; just that something was definitely off between them.

For the past few weeks he'd had to remind himself to be careful. 'Make sure your hand doesn't brush past his, watch where you rest your leg, don't look at him directly in the eye, Jesus fucking hell don't stare down there for fuck's sake.' It was like a constant mantra that played on repeat in his head. Everything he did lately was an act. He was playing some ridiculous game no one could win; he was the only person stupid enough to join in and all rules were aimed against him.

He'd discovered that anger was the best remedy. Artificial irritation masked the wanting he felt and made the whole situation doable. Hence the whole being a complete asshole attitude he'd adopted as of late. It was just easier to be pissed and cranky then to actually talk to Sam because what if the confession accidentally slipped out? You could be carrying on a low-risk conversation about that hot young waitress over there in those pink and black short-shorts and then all of a sudden you're tripping over your words and 'dude I need more coffee' becomes 'you got some jelly on your lip right there, lean in closer so I can lick it off.'

Everything Dean did lately was in an effort to deter himself from Sam. It just wasn't practical to have him that close anymore - too much temptation. Like someone was dangling a giant, juicy burger inches away from his grasp yet every time he went to take a bite the jerk on the other end would yank it further away, inch by agonizing inch. He wanted to bite it. Taste it. Swallow it. But right now all he could do was look. Resist the urge and keep his mouth shut – though he had to admit, self-control wasn't really one of his strong points.

With a frustrated sigh he fell back heavily on the hideous floral bed; the hard mattress springs poked uncomfortably against his spine.

Dean decided that even if a frickin' djinn manifested from behind the bathroom door he wouldn't flinch to grab the rock sat. He'd let it play its games. His wish would be for the doors and windows to bolt and lock themselves so he could stay exactly where he was for the next ten years – alone and untroubled.

Or maybe a better wish would be for Sam to be a girl. Nah, that was too easy plus the idea of Samantha his little sister was just plain creepy. Maybe he'd wish that they weren't related. But no, that alternate life was even worst than the girl idea. He could always wish away the twisted feeling he got in his gut whenever Sam looked at him with those eyes, all innocent and genuinely concerned…

'Doesn't matter,' he thought, 'wishing doesn't get you jack squat.' A big pile of nothing that's all you'd get. And it was a coward thing to do, to wish that things were different. 'You can't sit on your ass and hope for the best, you gotta get out there and make shit happen.' At least that's what their Dad had always told them.

He had to get a hold of himself. As far as he saw it he had two options: either get it under control or man up and confess. Not hide. He was a Winchester and Winchesters didn't cower. His dad sure as hell never cowered. But then again he'd rather not think about what advice his dad would bring to the table in a situation like this.

Some fucked up part of him wanted Sam to know, wanted Sam to share the pain he felt. And god, he'd gotten so close to telling him so many times.

A month ago after finishing a hunt the words practically spilled out. They were in Minnesota, or was it Michigan? Wisconsin? Well, wherever they were he was drunk; so shitfaced it wasn't pretty. An almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels held loosely in his hand, eyes were glassed over. Sam entered into the bar, looking like one of those haggard housewives. He made a beeline straight to him, removed the bottle, wrapped an arm around his waist and hoisted him effortlessly to his feet. It was just a simple gesture, yet the touch caused the words to practically shoot out of Dean's mouth the instant Sam's large hand gripped him firmly at the hip. Though he never made it past a slurred rambling of 'dude, d'ya wanna hear somethin' funny?' because at that moment the whiskey thought it'd be hilarious to come back up all over his leather jacket.

Karma. What a bitch.

Dean moaned and stuffed a pillow over his face. The thing smelled of dew and old lady but hey, if he couldn't tell Sam and he couldn't wish for things to be different, he might as well just suffocate. He pushed the pillow further into his face waiting for the unconsciousness to come, knowing all the while that melodramatic, angsty ploys weren't exactly his thing.

After a few prolonged minutes of getting absolutely nowhere, he gave up on the death wish and instead hurtled the pillow at the television set. The collision of heavy cotton impacting with the small metal box caused the damn thing to teeter itself off the flimsy table and smash against the carpet. At first he crossed his fingers that the three-inched shag carpeting would brace the fall, but being his luck the TV cracked hard against the floor and shattered the entire front panel. Small sparks shot up and the smell of burning feathers infested the room.

"Oh come on!" He shouted towards the ceiling as if God himself had planned the whole thing and was up there laughing himself silly at the pitiful look on Dean's face. He looked around the desolate room. Great. Just fucking fantastic. No Sam and now no TV.

The quiet seemed unnatural. He wondered what Sam was up to. Probably doing research, the geek, unless of course he'd fallen asleep. Sleep actually sounded pretty damn wonderful right about now. To just close his eyes and forget about everything for a few hours. He still had some time before Sam would be knocking on his door all sunshine and rainbows. How anyone could be that freakishly happy in the morning he had no idea.

He pulled at the bronzed chain that dropped down from lamp that rested above the bed frame, cloaking the room in total darkness. 'Just sleep.' He told himself. But he couldn't sleep. His betraying mind wandered back to thoughts of Sam and the fact that he was a whole building away. He hated thinking about him like that – alone, confused, abandoned.

Besides the two-room thing was weird. He missed the nagging comments about his dirty socks, the soft click of the keyboard. He started to regret the whole 'let's not sleep in the same room' thing. At the time he though he was being pretty clever but now it just seemed like a shitty idea. Plus, he'd developed this weird quirk where he couldn't properly fall asleep unless Sam was in the room with him.

'Christ,' he thought. 'He's turned me into a fucking fruitloop.'

He needed to get out of the room. Needed to get away. Maybe if he found some bimbo that would come back to the room with him or he could always grab a case down at the gas station…

Slowly, he rolled out of bed and shuffled on his shoes, flung open the door and started to make his way across the threshold when his knee suddenly collided with a heavy mass. The outline of a large duffle bag was placed outside his room.

His heart swelled with the knowledge that Sam had actually thought about him, that he actually tried to see him, that he didn't totally hate him. Maybe he should just see what Sam was up to. Apologize, clear his conscience, get some sleep, and deal with everything else in the morning.

'Grow some balls, Dean' he told himself as he threw the bag inside the room and shut the door behind him.

–

Once he was sure 215 was, in fact, the right room – the old man in 251 was a crabby son of a bitch – he rapped three times on the faded blue door, cracked his knuckles and waited for the worst.

Nothing.

He knocked again, louder this time, and waited for the lights to turn on or for the sound of Sam's feet…

Dead silence.

"Sammy!" He shouted. "Sam, open up!"

Still nothing.

Maybe he was just asleep.

"Sam!" He called again but no answer came.

Panic began to flood his veins. What if something was wrong? What if he left? 'Oh he better not have left' he thought angrily. He placed a firm hand around the gun he carried in the back of his jeans and swiftly glanced around the abandoned parking lot. Nope, Impala was still in clear view. Dammit he knew something like this was going to happen. Why the hell did he leave Sam alone? You'd think he'd have learned his lesson by now. You don't leave Sam by himself. Ever. The kid was a walking magnet for bad situations.

"Sammy? You in there?" His fist slammed hard against the door.

"What's goin' on?" The shadow of someone's tall frame stepped out into the lit patch of the walkway.

Dean turned behind him, gun aimed at Sam's chest. "Dude, don't do that!" He gazed up at Sam's confused face.

"Do what?"

"Leave like that! I told you not to take off somewhere." He pocketed the gun.

"I just went to get something to drink. I was gone a whole two minutes." He took another sip of his soda, eyes never wavering from Dean's angered face.

"I thought something happened." He breathed out deeply.

"Twenty minutes ago you couldn't wait to get away from me, but now you're all concerned?" There was acidity in his voice though the hostility never reached his face. Dean went to say something but quickly bit his tongue. "So what? Did you need something? I put the bag outside your door." Sam turned around to look towards the building Dean was staying at.

"Yeah, I know. It's just, I was just thinkin'," he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "You wanna do something? We could, uh, put on some pay-per-view or play some poker or –"

"It's four in the morning." He eyed him suspiciously and swallowed the rest of his soda.

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat. "It is, isn't it? I just thought, ya know, maybe one room makes more sense." He peered out across the nearby highway and hoped he didn't sound as retarded as he felt.

"What? Miss me already?" Sam asked with a coy smile.

"Nah, just thought you had a point. Why pay for two rooms, right?"

Sam smiled then reverted his eyes to dwell on the bronze room number sign that dangled from its screwed in peg. Dean didn't know if he was just pausing for emotional effect or if he was really contemplating his choices, whatever he was doing it was making him nervous. "Yeah, okay" he finally said. "Just let me get my stuff." He went to step but Dean grabbed his arm mid-stride.

He stared down where his hand was and quickly dropped it back to his side. Damn reflexes. "No, let's take your room."

"Why?"

"Uh…my TV broke."

"Again? Jeez what is with these places? You'd think they'd at least have working stuff."

He tried not to smile. "Yeah they're all crap. Anyways," he started walking backwards. "I'll go tell the landowner we only need one room." He almost backed straight into the brick wall of the neighboring building. "This time don't take off. Sam, I mean it. Stay put. I repeat. Do not leave." He pointed a stern finger at Sam.

"Alright, alright. I'm not leaving."

"And lock the door!" His voice loudly ricocheted off the buildings.

Sam looked at him with his arms raised by his sides, "Who's gonna get me, Dean?"

"Lock it!" He shouted.

Sam shook his head with an amused smile. "You've got issues."

"What?" He called from across the parking lot.

"Hurry up! I'm tired!" He tossed the empty can into the fly covered dumpster before shutting the door and bolting the lock.

–

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean slipped underneath the fresh, crisp sheets. They had three hours until they planned to get back on the road. Though the likelihood of them actually waking up in three hours was slim to none.

"Yeah?" Sam turned off the lights and fidgeted around until the mattress felt just right against his body.

"About earlier, in the car…I shouldn't have yelled at you–"

"Don't worry about it."

"It was just the storm and then—"

"It's okay." The faint glow of Sam's cell phone shone from across the room. A little jingle played as it powered down.

"Okay." He pulled the comforter around his body. "Hey Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Try not to snore, alright? The other night I swear it sounded like a whole army of snow plows were parading through our room."

"Shut up." Sam laughed and threw one of his extra pillows at Dean's face.

"Night Sammy." He put the thrown pillow behind his head and snuggled deeper into the mattress.

"Mm-hmm." Sam was already asleep.

Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye at his brother's still frame. He knew it would only bring him more pain but sometimes he couldn't help but stare. He loved the moment right before Sam fell asleep, when his knees curled up close to his waist and the rise and fall of his chest began to slow. Man, he was beautiful. His eyes came to rest on Sam's tan neck where his hair had a habit of softly curling up underneath the slight curve of his ear. God bless the fool that discovered the magical capability of the cold shower.

He turned over on his side facing the opposite direction. If he was going to get any sleep tonight he'd have better luck if he stared at the blank wall. It was moments like this that gave Dean hope. A small sliver of possibility wiggled its way through the dark cracks of his doubts and sparked the notion that if he told Sam the truth, everything might be okay. The more logical part of him wondered if it would be cruel to tell Sam what was really going on. The kid had just gotten over Jess's death – the last thing he needed was a self-proclaimed declaration of love from his big brother of all people.

'His brother.' He mused over the words not liking how he suddenly acquired a metallic taste in his mouth. 'Brother.' Realistically he knew the idea should repulse him, repel him. But it was Sam. His Sam. And fuck if it didn't feel damn near perfect.

But it didn't matter how much he wanted it. Nothing mattered because he'd never be able to speak the words out loud.

What held him back wasn't the fear of failure. Of course to look into Sam's eyes knowing that the feelings weren't mutual would be awkward at best, and let's face it, uncomfortable at the family dinner table didn't even begin to cover it. But what really stopped him from telling Sam the truth wasn't about rejection or disappointment or any of that. It was the fear that he would push Sam away. That Sam would leave again. If he left again…

He blocked the thought. He didn't like to think about Stanford.

Sometimes, Dean liked to pretend that those years at Stanford never took place. He liked to think that the night before Sam left for California - well, the night before the night where all shit hit the fan and it was like a goddamn screaming match - was the night where things just paused. And picking him up that night in Palo Alto? That was right where they picked back up again.

And Stanford? A leaping gap in the timeline of their lives that, as far as Dean's concerned, never even happened.

He slowly exhaled, discarding the negative thought as sleep consumed him.

Tomorrow things would make sense. Tomorrow things would be different. Tomorrow he would tell him.

Well, maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first two hours he actually got sleep.

Then six o'clock rolled around and it was all downhill from there. The sun was brightly shining in through the crevasses of the blinds onto Dean's face; the beaming light brought him out of his peaceful slumber and shoved him back into the same daunting thoughts and worries he'd fallen asleep to. He tossed and turned for the remainder of the morning, conscious, with every turn, that a giant, sleeping personification of temptation was only an arm's length away.

At five past seven he blindingly felt for the snooze button then rolled over with his pillow held tightly over his head cursing into the mattress. He lay there for a good fifteen minutes fighting to keep his wandering eyes from gravitating over to the other twin bed. Eventually he'd given up as his eyes drifted over to Sam's lips. Sam's mouth was open with sleep, his lips - moist and pink and just blatantly there, teasing him, mocking him…

Sam was still deep in sleep, his one leg hung loosely over the side of the mattress, sock hanging partway off his foot, pillow smashed up against his face. Dean's eyes lazily wandered from the tip of Sam's sock to the bottom hem of his boxers… Yeah it was probably best to leave the room. If Sam woke up and saw him gazing with no intelligible explanation as to why he was practically drooling, well, that would lead to awkward questions. Not to mention he felt like a huge creep staring at him like that.

He knew he should probably get Sam up so they could get back on the road, but he didn't have the heart to wake him. He looked at Sam's peaceful face and knew it was his fault Sam had been so exhausted lately. It was his stupid idea to drive to Georgia at three in the morning and it was his stupid fault Sam was lacking sleep due to worrying about him so much.

While getting ready to leave the room, Dean decided to make a promise to himself right then and there: To not be a jerk to Sam anymore. No more yelling, no more fighting. He wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, when things weren't complicated and they were just brothers. Just because he couldn't control his feelings didn't mean he couldn't try to control his actions. Sam didn't deserve all the crap he'd been getting lately. His feelings, he decided, would have to be buried. He just had to focus on other things. Like hunting. Hunting was a good thing to focus on. If his mind was preoccupied with shooting something, he wouldn't have to think about anything else.

In the hours Dean waited for Sam to get up he actually got a lot done. His first stop was the Shell station down the street where he raided the mini mart for anything remotely edible. He scraped all the bugs and crap off the Impala's windshield, filled the tank with premium for a change, and hosed the chunks of hardened mud off the tires. Cleaning out the car's interior was a massive feat in itself considering all the junk they had crammed into the backseat. He'd actually hit the jackpot in his opinion – thirty six dollars, some chick named Carla's number written on a lipstick-stained bar napkin, a dented can of Diet Coke, and a crumpled up piece of paper that Sam doodled on the day before; It was a horrible caricature of Dean holding what seemed to be a sword, or maybe it was just a badly drawn machete, and the words 'I Suck' scribbled messily across the top.

Dean smiled at the memory that brought the picture into being. He pocketed the paper in his wallet.

–

It wasn't until mid afternoon when he was back in the room and in the middle of rummaging through their bags collecting all the dirty shirts and grass-stained jeans that Sam woke up. The mattress springs creaked as he shifted to a sitting position. "This is a change." He said groggily as he propped himself back on his elbows. "You up before me."

"I just got up." First lie of the day, great start Dean.

Sam stretched his arms out in front of him and sat there for a few minutes looking completely disheveled.

"Nice hair, Chewbacca." Dean glanced behind him and snickered at the tousled mop that sat on Sam's head.

"What time is it?" He ran his hand through his hair trying to flatten it down.

"Uh…" He glanced at his watch. "Two."

Sam moaned and threw himself back on the pillows. "Did the alarm even go off?"

"Guess not." Lie number two. Man he was on a roll.

"Hey, is there any coffee?" Sam rubbed his face. "Does this place have bagels or anything?"

"What does this look like to you? A four star restaurant?" Dean added another flannel shirt to the heaping pile on the floor before rummaging through the cheap plastic bag of crappy pre-packaged food he bought earlier. He tossed a box at Sam. "There. Pretend it's a donut or something."

"Twinkies?" Sam mused over the idea then smiled in approval before unwrapping the packaging. "Want one?"

"No I just ate." He brought his half-empty coffee cup over to Sam and set it on the nightstand beside his bed. "Hey, check this out." He threw a newspaper on his lap.

Sam took a large gulp of Dean's coffee and winced when the scolding liquid hit his throat. "A gig?" He choked out.

"Yup. Right here."

"So no Georgia then?"

He shrugged. "We might as well check this out first. We're here already."

Quite honestly he didn't even know if this hunt had anything to do with them – didn't really seem like their sort of thing. But it didn't matter. The longer he stayed occupied with a hunt the longer he got to stay away from analyzing 'Situation Sam'. Besides he couldn't spend another long day in the car with Sam right at his elbow, not if he wanted to keep his promise of not being an ass to him. So fake hunt or not, they were going. Dean sniffed his wrinkled gray t-shirt before wading it into a ball and stuffing it into the duffle bag. He was about to ask Sam where he left their other bag when he noticed his brother out of the corner of his eye.

Sam was eating a Twinkie the exact same way he had when they were kids. Dean always thought he looked like a huge dork with it dangling over his mouth like that - I mean who eats a Twinkie that way?  But now it wasn't dorky it was just obnoxious and very, very distracting. He began to squeeze the filling onto his tongue like he was catching fluffy, white raindrops. Dean stopped mid motion and subconsciously licked his own lips. It took all the strength he had not to pounce on the bed. He wanted to wrap his lips around Sam's mouth and softly massage their tongues together. 'Mmm' he inwardly moaned. He could just about taste the frosting.

"Hey was everything okay last night?"

"Huh?" Dean's head snapped up. His fantasy wisped away as reality came into focus.

"Making us get separate rooms and then trying to find me at four in the morning…" He licked the frosting off his thumb.

"Yeah? Your point?" The words came out more harshly than he intended.

"I dunno." Sam shrugged. "You were just acting strange." He looked at Dean from across the room and waited patiently for a response.

"I'm fine." He zipped up the bag and threw it against the door. He didn't have to turn around to know Sam's eyes were on him. He hated the way Sam looked at him sometimes. _Staring _at him like that. What did he want? A goddamn speech? "I was a jerk. It's over." He breathed out. "Can we move on now?"

"You don't have to do that." He threw off the blankets and scooted out of bed, toes sinking deep into the carpet.

Dean scowled and stiffly turned around to face him. "Enlighten me, Sam. What don't I have to do?"

"Act like that. Brush me off like I'm some random stranger." He stretched his arms across his chest. "I'm your brother. You can tell me if something's wrong. You don't need to act tough all the time."

"If a person says he's fine then guess what, Sam? He's fine. Remarkable, I know…" He turned back around.

Sam sighed claiming defeat. Seeing as to how he was getting nowhere in the conversation he decided to comment on a subject Dean _would _respond to. "So," he walked over to the table near the door and flipped up his laptop. "What's this hunt about anyways?"

–

The location of the hunt was only a few blocks down from their motel. The neighborhood was pretty dingy apart from where they were heading. Some widow bought out over thirty acres of unclaimed property and built a massive house right in the center. Why? God only knows. Dean hadn't really thought up a plan because he really didn't know what the hell was going on. All he knew is they needed to get inside that house without the old broad knowing.

Rock music filled their ears as Dean's phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Don't answer it." Sam's hand swiftly closed around Dean's as he took the phone from him.

"Why not?"

"Could be Bobby checking in to see how the hunt's going."

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his brother then distractedly turned his head to wink at group of jogging girls.

"If Bobby finds…" Sam's head bent in front of Dean's line of sight to gain back his attention. "Hey, Dean. If Bobby finds out we're still not in Georgia he's gonna be pissed."

"We'll get to Georgia eventually." He grabbed his phone out of Sam's hand trying to touch as little skin as possible. "Okay so I'm thinking we should first get in and look around the place. That way we'll know what kind of a freak we're dealing with."

"We're not going to break in for no good reason. Let's be FBI or Homeland Security or whatever and ask them to let us in."

"No. I don't trust 'em. There's something going on with that Tallis woman. Besides, my way's funner."

"More fun." He said automatically. "I don't know about this, Dean. It's weird. Like _too _weird. Even for us. Maybe we should get back on the road and head for Georgia. I bet we could get there by seven."

"Oh, Samantha, would you calm down?" He grabbed a flyer from the man on the corner of the street. "It's going to be a piece of cake. We're in. We're out." He snapped. "Just like that."

"Yeah, not likely."

The both stopped when their path ended with a giant ironclad door. The front entrance seemed barricaded with every possible security precaution known to mankind.

"Every time." Dean scowled at the chained fence. "Wouldn't it be awesome to round the corner and _not _see a chained fence with locks and security cameras and –-"

"What do you think you're doing?" A gruff voice sounded near his ear.

The stranger was standing so close to Dean that when he turned around his nose almost brushed against the man's brown uniform. "Whoa." He took a step back and softly laughed. "Didn't see you there, ah…" He looked at the man's shirt. "Mike. Anything we can do for you?" He discreetly wrapped his fingers around the small, blunt knife he carried with him just in case.

Without a word the officer whipped out his badge with such arrogance it was difficult not to laugh. Dean pretended to be impressed as he glanced down at the badge. Behind the man's back Sam ran the EMF meter against the gate.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave seeing as this is private property and all. Trespassin' is a serious crime, son."

He inwardly grunted. God, he hated cops. Why did every one of them think they were so high and mighty? "We weren't trespassing." He cleared his throat. "Me and my partner here were hired by Mrs…ah, Nugent. We thought it'd be best to get ourselves situated with the location before we laid down the groundwork." His lie came out clean and crisp as if he'd been rehearsing it for days.

"Groundwork?" The officer asked slowly.

"Landscaping." Dean smiled broadly. "Need to fix this place up so it's presentable next weekend." He looked around the vast spread of perfectly manicured lawn. "You know how she is." He shook his head in pretend exasperation.

The man's face stayed stone blank. "Nugent did you say?"

"Yes, sir." He nodded.

"No one by that name lives here. This house belongs to the Tallis's."

"Oh my mistake!" Dean glanced at Sam. "We'll be on our way, then. Sorry to bother you." Dean subtly tilted his head to the right so Sam would follow. When they turned on their heels Sam's hand accidentally brushed against the inner part of Dean's thigh. Dean sucked in a sharp breath and unconsciously twitched his hand causing him to lose his grip on the knife. His eyes went wide when the fallen object fell against the graveled path with a soft "ting."

"Son? I think you dropped – Oh what do we have here?" The officer bent down to pick up the knife. "Trespassing while in possession of a weapon?" He shook his head in a disapproving manner. "You wouldn't want me to get the wrong impression, would you boy?" For a moment Dean thought he'd have to find a way to get himself around the truth, but the officer opened his palm to hand the knife back.

Dean awkwardly took the knife out of the man's outstretched hand while Sam grabbed his arm walking off in the other direction.

"Smooth, Dean. Very debonair." He whispered once they were out of earshot.

"Shut up." He rolled his shoulders to get Sam off of him. "So EMF pick up anything?" He glanced behind him making sure the cop had lost interest.

"Nope, nothing."

"Sulfur?"

"No I couldn't find anything. Dean, I was thinking… Maybe we jumped on this case too soon."

Sam was right. The whole goddamn hunt was a joke. There was nothing supernatural going on and he knew it. Yet he couldn't bring himself to call it off. If they stopped now they'd either be stuck together in the motel room or stuck together in the car and either way that wasn't good.

Dean couldn't help but feel like his secret was rising closer to the surface. The little voice in the back of his head continued to shout its little fantasies at the tops of its lungs anytime Sam looked at him. His mind was still doing laps around the same questions, his decision still stuck in limbo: to tell Sam or to keep it hidden, to act on the desires or keep them buried… but keeping the secret from Sam meant keeping _himself _from Sam. Problem was he knew he couldn't.

Deep down Dean knew Sam would be better off without him but selfishly he refused to spread the distance between them. He needed Sam. He needed him in any way, shape, or form Sam was willing to give himself to him. Brother, lover, friend, anything, it didn't matter. He just needed him.

"Maybe there's nothing going on here that has to do with us, ya know?" Sam's voice broke his train of thought as they continued to stroll down the rocky path.

"I dunno, Sam. Maybe we're just looking in the wrong places."

–

They made their way around to the side of the building hoping to spot a deserted entrance way or an unlocked window. Dean made up this whole bat-shit story about how they needed to get a better view from a higher location so they'd be able to devise a more successful plan to get inside the building. Sam went along with it, thankfully, though he kept asking question after question as to why the hell didn't they just leave for Georgia, to which Dean kept telling Sam to shut up.

He had no idea what they were going to do once they got _inside _the building with absolutely nothing to hunt. He'd been trying to construct an interesting story but so far he had nothing. Zero ideas. Nada. He couldn't even think of a creature interesting enough to fit the gig. Whatever. He'd worry about it once they got inside. Dean reached to grip the low-hanging, sloped roof and glanced back at Sam who was on the lookout for other pedestrians. "What's with the face?" He tried to grip the ledge but his hand slipped off for the third time.

"Huh?" Sam snapped out of his daze.

"What are you smilin' about? You're like Mr. Happy over there."

"Oh." He scratched his neck uncomfortably. "I'm just glad things are better than yesterday. I was worried about you." A small smile played across his face, his dimples faintly curved in his cheeks. 'That smile.' Dean sighed. That smile was worth all the pain. Just to see Sam happy. It made him sick to think he'd ever act in a way to make that smile leave Sam's face.

Dean wiped the sweat from his fore head and turned back to the ledge. He tried to pull himself up but again his hand slipped. "Dude," he breathed heavily. "You're gonna have to climb up."

"Aw too short?" Sam frowned mockingly until he noticed the fire in Dean's eyes. "Sorry. I'm going." He walked over to where Dean was standing and reached up to grip the ledge. He pushed himself up on the tip of his sneakers and pulled himself up atop the low hanging roof.

"Any luck?" He called up once Sam was atop the roof.

Sam straightened up and peered across the building. "Uh…no, I can't see a way in. Hold on, I'm going to get higher."

"Come back down. Let's try the back way instead."

"I got it."

"Sam, be careful!" Dean called up.

"I'm okay." Sam went to climb up to the next level but misjudged the footing. His shoe slid out from under him twisting his ankle at a weird angle. He tried to grab hold of something as his legs buckled out from under him but he could find anything to grip. He slid off the sloped roof and landed on the dirt path with a thud, his mouth full of gravel as his face slid against the ground.

"Sam!" Dean ran to Sam's side and quickly checked his head for any sign of a concussion or any bloody gash. Luckily, everything seemed to look okay. Sam coughed loudly, air abruptly rushing back into his lungs. "Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. Sam! Okay there you are." He leaned Sam against his chest. "Sit up." He grunted pulling Sam's torso into a better position. "There you go."

Sam started to violently cough, spiting out the excess dirt and sand in his mouth. Dean hesitated for a second before placing his hand on Sam's back. He moved his palm in a slow, circular motion to sooth his breathing. "You're okay. You just got the wind knocked out of ya." He said comfortingly as Sam's breath started to slow. When Sam was steady enough to sit on his own, Dean moved to kneel in front of him so he could get a better view of his face. He cradled Sam's head with one hand and checked for any bumps or cuts. Besides a few scratches and a busted lip, he looked perfectly fine.

Sam hissed a breath through his teeth when he touched the scrapes along his jaw. "Crap. It hurts." His nose was scrunched up with disgust at the taste of dirt in his mouth.

"Doesn't look too bad." Dean kept his hand behind Sam's head and continued to examine his wounds. "Your legs okay?"

He stretched out his legs and circled his ankle. "Yeah." He winced. "They're good."

Dean let out the breath he was holding. "Thank God." He smiled. "You scared me for a minute." Without thinking he gently rubbed his thumb back and forth over Sam's cheekbone. The movement felt so natural, so effortless, that he didn't think anything of it.

Sam went to wipe the blood off his bottom lip but paused when he felt Dean's thumb caress his face. His eyes clouded with confusion as he sat entranced and puzzled for a while until he leaned his face away from his brother's hand as if the touch burned his skin.

Dean was punched with a sudden feeing of dejection and fear. Flustered, he tried to quickly disentangle his hand from Sam's hair and push himself up on the balls of his feet.  He wanted to run from the situation or make a joke about what had happened but his brain seemed to be on pause. He felt the panic rise inside him and did the only thing he could think of. He yelled. "That was a stupid thing to do trying to get that high! I told you to be careful!"

Sam just stared at him with his mouth partly open and his brows furrowed.

Dean shook his head and stormed off in the other direction with no intention of coming back.

Sam slowly got to his feet and brushed off the dirt. "Where are you going, now?" He asked in a bored voice.

Dean kept his eyes focused ahead of him and picked up the pace.

–

'Great.' Dean thought. 'Back to square one.'

He almost got Sam killed in a make-believe hunt, he broke the promise he had made to himself early about not being an ass to his brother, _and _he practically fondled Sam like a flirty teenaged girl in the middle of public area. And if that wasn't as sucky as a day could possibly go, he took off like a bat out of hell and left Sam alone, wounded, and car-less. And to add a cherry on top he now was drunk.

After driving around for a few hours he ended up back near their motel at the bar next door. He needed the drinks. Needed to not feel anything, to not think of anything, needed to escape. He was going to escape in the car – drive for as long as he possibly could - but when he went back to the motel to grab his stuff, he thought about the night before. If he couldn't even do one night alone in a motel room how the hell could he do forever? That's when he headed to the bar.

In the 2 hours he'd been sitting at the same barstool he'd drank a whole smorgasbord of alcoholic drinks and didn't so much as glance at the beautiful woman serving them to him so yeah, he was pretty out of it. He thought the drinking would help heal his misery, but it didn't. Instead of taking the sharp edge of his pain away, it blurred the edges making everything seem more confusing and purposeless than it was before.

He was on his third round of shots when Sam finally found him. As soon as he heard the jingle of the door he knew it was him. Dean didn't look up when Sam sat down beside him; he instead kept his eyes focused on the tiny shot glass the twirled between his fingers.

"You're drunk." An innocent observation yet the sound of Sam's voice made him want to lash out. He expected Sam to be furious. Hell; he left him at that joke of a hunt without any wheels – granted they were only a few blocks away - but when Sam spoke he sounded anything but angry, if anything he sounded concerned, maybe even a little sad.

Dean took another shot then wiggled the cup in front of him to get the bartender's attention. "A beer this time." He nodded towards the woman.

"Why'd you leave like that?" Sam's voice was soft, soothing, as if trying to explain reason to a small child. Dean cursed under his breath. He didn't want to deal with this. Not now. He was vulnerable and cranky and so freaking confused. Not to mention drunk with a pounding headache. Right now, he just wanted to get away from anything that made him think too hard – which most definitely included Sam. He put some bills on the counter and took the bottle from the bartender. Without even an acknowledgement that Sam was present in the room, he slid off the barstool and swiftly walked out of the building.

Sam followed in his wake barley catching the bar door before it shut. "Hold on."

Dean rolled his eyes but stopped once they hit the parking lot. He went to take a swig of his beer but Sam smoothly grabbed the bottle from his hands. "You're done, Dean." He bent his head to look into his eyes and frowned sympathetically. "Come on, let's get you to bed." He placed his hands on Dean's shoulder and went to steer him towards their room.

"Christ, would you get off me?" He angrily jerked away from him.

"I'm just trying to help you, man –"

"Well I don't need your help, so thanks."

"Come on." He went to wrap an arm around his brother's shoulder but Dean stepped away.

"Shut up, Sam. Just shut up and get away from me." His eyes narrowed together as he glared at him.

Sam turned his head away. "And it starts again…" He sighed.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"What is that supposed to mean? What do you think it means, Dean? I thought that maybe, just maybe, you were going to start acting like your self again, that we were past all the fights. You were fine earlier today but now it's back to all this bullshit again." Dean needed to get out of here. He needed to get away before he said something he would regret. He went to step but Sam blocked him.

"Why are you so angry with me, Dean? It's like a switch goes off in your head and you go fucking crazy. And I may be a psychic freak but I can't read minds." He bit the side of his mouth and sighed. "I hate having this distance between us." Dean tried to move to the other side but Sam stopped him. "So would you just talk to me? Please?"

When it looked like Dean was going to attempt to maneuver around him again, Sam instinctively grabbed his shoulders to hold him in place. Dean angrily knocked his hands away and slammed Sam hard against the wall of the building. He pinned him against the hard bricks with his elbow on Sam's neck and glowered threateningly at him before dropping his arm and striding away.

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Sam called after him.

Dean kept walking. One foot in front of the other, making his way towards the motel room.

Sam followed after him; his large strides quickly set them side-by-side. "I'm sick of you treating me like shit, man. I'm so damn sick of it."

In a matter of feet, they were outside their room. Dean turned the key and opened the door, practically letting it slam into Sam's face on the way in.

"We gotta talk about this sooner or later." Sam raised his voice but Dean acted as if he didn't hear him. "Okay. Don't say anything. Just bottle everything up inside. That's what you do." He mockingly smiled in exasperation.

Dean grabbed his jacket and walked towards the door.

"You aren't leaving, Dean." He went to move after him to block his way but suddenly stopped. "You know what? Forget it. I don't fucking care anymore. _I'm _leaving. Don't bother coming back because I won't be here. I'm catching the next bus and going as far away as I can get. I'm done. I've had it."

It wasn't until Sam brushed past him to make his way to the door that Dean opened his mouth. "Wow." He called sarcastically. "I think I'm experiencing deja vu."

"What?" Sam turned around.

"I guess old habits die hard."

Sam stared at him incredulously.

"Stanford, Sam." Dean swiftly walked towards him. "You know that huge chunk of time that you weren't here? Pep rallies, study parties, ringing and bells here, buddy?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Forget it." Dean picked up his car keys from the nightstand.

"You're drunk."

"I'm leaving."

"Absolutely not." Sam roughly took the keys out of Dean's enclosed hand. They glared at each other, too infuriated to speak. Dean was torn between punching Sam in the stomach and kicking his legs out from under him. Though he knew Sam was right - driving right now would be a dumbass idea. So instead of leaving with the keys, he picked up a half-empty bottle of beer off the table from the night before and went to take a sip right in Sam's face just to piss him off.

Sam forcibly knocked the bottle out of Dan's grasp, shattering the glass against the wall. "Why are you doing this to yourself, Dean? What's going on with you?" He looked searchingly into his eyes as if there was an answer buried deep inside. Dean went to leave the room but Sam held him tightly. When Dean jerked to get out of his grip Sam gripped his shoulders even tighter using his size to hold him in place. "Please." He breathed out shakily. "Just talk to me. Dean I'm begging here, man. Please."

The color drained from Dean's face. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't do this to Sam anymore. He let his body relax and didn't struggle when Sam steered him toward the bed. He sat down heavily on the hard mattress, his elbows propped on his knees. He kept his eyes on Sam's shoes. Kept his eyes on the tapping of Sam's foot as he stood in front of him, arms crossed, and waiting.

Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth as if trying to coax the words out. He finally decided to say the first thing that came to mind. "I still don't get why you left." The words come out muffled through his fingers. He knew it was the weirdest thing to say. That that can of worms had no place in their conversation yet he couldn't help but say it.

"What are you talking about? California? You mean when I left for Stanford?"

Dean didn't know how this topic came up but now that they started talking he couldn't help but pain himself deeper. "Obviously."

"Uh… to go to school, to become someone…" Sam trailed off not knowing where this was going. "To do something for myself for a change."

"What, and I'm always doing stuff for myself?" He whipped his head up to meet Sam's eyes. He knew he should stop talking. He was too drunk and the words weren't coming out the way he'd planned but he couldn't seem to stop. "You think you're the only one who sacrificed a piece of themselves?"

"No, I never said that. Dean, you're drunk. Let's not talk about this right now."

"Ya know I get that you wanted to go to school, be normal or whatever, but why would you leave everything?"

"Come on. I don't wanna talk about this right now." Sam rubbed his tired eyes.

"You cut me out of your life after everything I've done for you. Not even an apology, you just left."

"It's not like I abandoned you!" Sam just about shouted the words. "You had dad!"

He snorted in response to this. "Might as well have been alone."

"I was alone too, Dean."

"Shut up. You had Jess." The moment the words left his lips he knew he'd gone too far.

Sam shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Don't bring her into this." He threatened. "This isn't about her."

"You loved her more than both of us, right? You can tell me Sam, I won't hold it against you." The words spat out before he had time to stop them. He wanted to take them back, wanted to bite off his own tongue.

"That's what you really think isn't it?" Sam looked at Dean with a mix of hatred and sympathy.

"Look." Dean began bringing the conversation back to its original intent. "I get that you and dad didn't get along. We didn't have a normal life. I get it. You wanted to leave. But why'd you always have to defy him, ya know, always cutting him down. He didn't deserve that. I," he pointed sloppily to himself, "I didn't deserve that." The last words slurred together. He was really starting to regret that extra round of shots. He blinked his eyes a few times to stop the atmosphere from blurring together.

It didn't look like Sam was going to speak, so Dean pressed on.

"I regret not sticking up for you. Man, I do." He bit back the overwhelming surge of sadness that threatened to turn into tears. Dammit he hating the way alcohol made him unfiltered and emotional. "I should have said something when dad said all that shit to you before you left. And I'm sorry I couldn't stop the argument. But if I stopped that one, you two would've been at it the next night and you know it."

"Wait" Sam finally spoke. "You think I was pissed at you because you didn't defend me the night I left? Because you didn't take my side?" He sat down on the bed. "I'm not a little kid Dean, I don't need you fighting my battles."

"Then what, Sam?" He kept his eyes on his hands. "You don't cut someone out of your life unless you're mad as hell at 'em."

"I was mad because when dad told me to leave, that you both were better off without me, you didn't tell me to stay."

"I thought you'd be safer away from it all."

"That's bullshit."

"Dude, you could have come back anytime you wanted. You could have answered my calls. I doubt it ever crossed your mind to turn around and find us. You thought about hunting, this life, me, ah what, maybe once? Twice?"

"Try everyday."

"Yeah okay…"

"You have no idea how many times I was this close to calling you, ya know? I'd dial your number but I couldn't hit send –"

"Well, there was nothin' stopping you, Sam." He looked up to meet his eyes.

Sam swallowed heavily. "I'm here now, okay?"

Dean bit the inside of his mouth. He was close enough to see that tiny scar in Sam's right eye - that small chink of yellow right beside his pupil. It happened that one night Dean made dinner. He was so proud of himself, found the recipe in the back of the newspaper, and cooked the whole thing from scratch for the two of them. Their dad was out hunting god knows what and it was the first decent meal they'd had in a long time. Sam accidentally poked himself in the eye with the damn fondue fork. They hadn't had fondue night since.

"So is this why you've been acting like a jerk?" The words brought Dean out of nostalgia. "You just wanted to get all this off your chest or what? You've got me so damn confused I don't know what the hell is going on anymore. Why choose now to get upset about Stanford? Huh?" Sam's voice was sharp with annoyance. Dean went to speak but Sam cut him off. "Is it fun to get pissed at me?"

"Yeah that's totally the reason." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Getting mad at me in the car, during the hunt—" With every word his voice rose.

"Sam, stop."

"It's like you can hardly stand to be in the same room with me for more than 5 minutes—"

"Would you shut up already?"

"Do you hate me that much where you can't even stand to share the same room with me anymore? You walk away, you block me out –-"

"Dammit, Sam. Stop ranting."

"Even now you can't look –-"

Dean quickly pressed his lips to Sam's mouth, cutting off his words mid-sentence. His lips barely grazed Sam's before he pulled back to stare at his brother wide-eyed.

"Shit" Dean whispered.

Sam's mouth hung open, his body frozen in place.

"Shut up." Dean said the words before Sam had time to say anything.

Sam quickly stood up running his hands through his hair. "I, I don't –" He started to pace.

"Just stop talking. I swear to God your voice is like nails on a chalk board." The wavering of his voice gave away the forced harshness of his words.

"Dean…." Sam turned to look at him almost with pity.

"Shut up! Don't say it! Don't you dare say it." He stood up and backed away from the bed pointing an accusing finger.

Sam stopped pacing and partially leaned on the dresser. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his two fingers. "For how long?" The words came out so quiet Dean could hardly hear him.

"Stop." He wanted Sam to stop talking. He wanted to get away. He wanted the day to just end.

"How long!" Sam's voice cracked as he shouted. Dean bit his lip not knowing what to say. His heart fluttered rapidly and everything started to spin. Sam took two swift strides across the room. He bent his head down to meet Dean's eyes and griped his jacket tight. "How." He slammed him against the wall. "Long." He gritted in between his teeth. He was too close. It was too much. Dean choked back a sob, his eyes intently focused on Sam's lips. "Sam." The word was almost a plea.

Sam's eyes lingered over Dean's lips but he shakily closed his mouth. His lip started to tremble before he let go of Dean's shirt and stepped away. He slowly grabbed the duffle bag off the floor and walked over to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob and lingered near the doorway standing over the threshold taking a few deep breaths. After what seemed like the longest pause in history, he turned around and finally looked Dean in the eyes. "Just promise me you won't drive tonight."

Dean numbly nodded. He looked to the ceiling as he heard the door click shut and the soft patter of Sam's shoes as he walked away from the building. Dean pounded his fist against the wall hard enough to make one of the cheap pictures fall.

He suddenly ran to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time to throw up all the whiskey and beer. After all alcohol was expelled from his stomach, he dry heaved a few times before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He sat on the cold bathroom tiles replaying what had happened over and over in his mind until every sentence, ever movement blurred into one. His head pounded in rhythm with his heart and he pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the room from spinning. He didn't want to believe that all that actually happened. Sam was gone and he was alone.

"Fuck!" He shouted. What did he just do?


	4. Chapter 4

It had been hell waiting to receive that call.

Dean hadn't moved from the hard chair that sat beside the window. He couldn't move if he tried. It wasn't that he was _trying _to be dramatic, just that his legs felt like they were seriously stuck in that crossed position on top of the table.

Dean looked down at his watch. Six hours and seventeen minutes since Sam had walked out that door.

Six goddamn hours.

There was a lot someone could accomplish in six hours. For instance you could drink yourself into oblivion, which was exactly what he would be doing if he could move his damn legs. In six hours a person could call his fill-in-dad - say someone like, I dunno, Bobby - and tell him that their brother is a complete whack job and what do I do now? In six hours you could potentially drive across four different states or take a plane to an entirely different country never again to face your past. You could also go crazy with disgust and humiliation and do some crazy shit that he didn't even want to think about.

Great. Now he was picturing Sam taking the swan dive off the nearest bridge.

He couldn't stop himself from obsessing over the events that led up to what had happened. What he said, what he did, what he _felt _… it was enough to drive him insane. But what was he supposed to derive from Sam's reaction? Was Sam really that surprised? Had he left out of shock or something else entirely?

'Things can't go back to the way they were.' That thought was like a lead weight against his chest. They _couldn't go back _. He'd messed it up. Messed up another perfect thing in his life like he always did. A continual string of messes and mistakes – that's what he was.

"Come on, Sam." Dean said the words out loud because he didn't like the way the silence was creeping in on him. He drummed his fingers uselessly on the fake wood table and checked his phone again in case he'd turned it to silent by mistake.

Every few minutes he lifted up the heinous drapes and swept the parking lot for any sight of his brother, and every few hours he accidentally dozed off, hand still tightly gripping the phone.

The Impala was still parked right outside the building, which meant Sam had either walked his ass to wherever he was heading or taken some form of public transportation. Dean hoped Sam hadn't gone too far. Maybe he was sitting at the bar or checked into a different room? He wished that was the case, though his gut feeling told him that Sam took off a lot further away than just down the hall.

He knew aimlessly wandering around in search for him was a lousy idea because what if Sam came back to the room and he wasn't there? What would he think then? So Dean decided it was best to wait it out. It's not like he could get a hold of him on his damn cell. After listening to "Hi. This is Sam. Leave a message." about a dozen times, he'd given up on trying to reach him.

So the night went by just like that - waiting and thinking and searching and worrying, and waiting. Mostly waiting.

It wasn't until 5 that morning that Dean got the call.

The heavy metal jingle didn't even have a chance to make it through the first set of chords because Dean flipped open the phone as fast as his fingers could move.

"Sam?" He said anxiously into the cell before he even brought the phone to his lips.

"Yeah." Sam's voice sounded small, defeated.

"Sammy are you okay? Where are you? Are you alright?" His eyes went wide with fear and anger as he tried to picture where Sam was calling from.

"I'm fine." The words were barely audible.

"Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?" He couldn't speak the words fast enough. His hand automatically rubbed across his forehead as he tried to steady his thoughts.

"I'm fine. I'm just sitting here. Next town over."

"Jesus." He breathed out clutching his chest. "Fuck, Sam. Don't do that again. I've been trying to get a hold of you all night. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "I'm okay." His voice sounded muffled through the speaker and Dean knew a bad connection wasn't to blame. He recognized the hushed tone of Sam's voice the minute he started talking; it was the same scratchy way his voice always got when he was upset and the endless fountain of tears had torn his throat raw.

The silence between them was beginning to exceed the point where it crosses the line of 'just pausing' and reaches that awkwardly uncomfortable level. When Dean went to speak they both started talking at the same time.

"Look, Dean –"

"Hey man –-"

They both went quiet.

What the hell was he even going to say to him? _"Sorry I tried to cram my tongue down your throat. It's just that I couldn't help it, ya know? A guy can only fantasize so long before his upstairs brain gives up entirely. And it probably will happen again, too. So, ya know. Just thought I'd warn ya…" _

He shook his head. Lying was the best thing to do right now. Just blame it on the booze. He took a deep breath and began, "I'm sorry about last night." He put on his confident bluff and forced his voice to remain steady. "I was so out of it. Don't let me drink a whole pitcher of Sangria right after a round of shots. Even if the waitress–-"

"Stop."

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dude, I don't even remember what –"

"Dean, stop. Okay? Just stop. If you can't be honest with me when we're face to face, then now's your chance. No more secrets. All right? No more lies."

Dean's face fell. Crap. There wasn't a way around it now. Sammy wasn't gonna let it go.

"What happened last night?"

Dean stayed quiet. He was terrified to open his mouth – god only knows what might pop out.

"I mean…" Sam continued, his voice sounded distressed. "You were pretty drunk. Do you remember it all? Did you, did you _mean _to do that? I just, I need to know what happened."

"…"

"Dean are you still there?"

"…Yeah." His face scrunched up in agitation. "Yeah I'm here."

"Talk to me, man."

"I don't…" Dean huffed angrily wanting to expel all the air from his lungs. "Shit. I don't know what to say, Sammy." Christ, this wasn't going how he had planned.

"Just talk to me. Please."

He knew Sam could picture him in the motel room. Pacing in non-defined circles, scratching his neck, rubbings his eyes, swearing at himself… "There's nothing to talk about, Sam. I did a really fucked up thing while I was drunk and if I could take it back I would." The lie fell flat even to his own ears.

"Don't get defensive. I'm not asking for an apology."

"Kind of hard for me to figure out what you're asking for when you practically ran out the room and I didn't hear from you until now." Shit. Why did he just say that?

"Dean what the hell did you expect me to do? I wasn't really prepared for you to do that in the middle of us shouting at each other. I mean you kissed me, right? That was a kiss? We kissed?"

"Say it a few more times, Sam. In case someone didn't hear you."

"Is this what's been going on with you? Did you _mean _to do that or…" Sam trailed off weakly.

"Can't you brush it off as a dumbass mistake? I was trying to shut you up. I mean for Christ's sake, Sam, ya just kept talking. So stop trying to analyze what happened, all right? It was a one time thing." He took the phone away from his mouth to swear up at the ceiling.

"It wasn't a one time thing, Dean."

"What?" He brought the phone back to his lips.

"It wasn't a one time thing." Sam repeated.

"Oh I'm sorry." He laid the sarcasm on thick. "I didn't realize we've done that before. Have we fucked too? My mind must be a bit hazy with all the details." He needed to find a stapler to shut his goddamn pie-hole. Not that being quiet would help – it was pretty damn obvious what his intentions were.

"Are you done or are you gonna keep being an ass? You know what I meant. It didn't seem like random thing…"

He just had to change the subject. Changing the subject was a good idea. "Where did you go last night?"

"…Motel."

"Oh."

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone and the sound of gum cracking registered in his ears; Sam always cracked his gum when he was nervous.

"Well…are you coming back? Here? I mean." Dean tried to keep the hopeful edge to his voice hidden.

"Do you _want _me to come back?"

"'Course I want you to come back. Look, Sam, I shouldn't have done that last night." He cleared the heavy pressure in his throat. "I don't know what the hell is going on with me, man." A rush of emotion flooded his mind and he couldn't help the defeatist tone his voice had suddenly adopted. "I'm confused, Sam." He stubbornly wiped at his tearing eyes. "Sammy, I'm so fucking confused."

"I know." Sam sighed.

And again with the long, awkward span of silence…  Dean tapped away the seconds with his foot. He tapped fifty-three times before Sam spoke.

"Hey, I should probably go. My bus is gonna be here soon."

He was leaving? He was _leaving _? What the hell? Where was he going?  "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Back to you, I guess. I just realized I only have twenty bucks in my pocket. Everything else is in your bag."

"I can drive you somewhere if that's what you want –-"

"We gotta talk first."

"Dude, there's nothin' to talk about." He practically growled the words. "I'm sorry I've been a dick. I'm sorry I got drunk. I'm sorry about what happened last night. I'm –"

"Don't say that." Sam cut him off before he could continue his thought.

"What?"

"Dean, I know."

He swallowed the knot in his throat that pressed uncomfortably against his Adam's apple and tried to play dumb. "Know what?"

"I _know. _About everything. I know."

He didn't know what to say so he just stayed silent. Like an animal playing dead. Maybe if he just stopped talking Sam would think he died.

"It's okay." Sam coaxed. "We'll figure this out."

"Figure this out? It's okay?" Anger boiled inside him, lashing out unexpectedly. "No it's not! It's not fucking okay, Sam! Everything is so freakin' messed up! Dammit!" He growled.

"Dean, listen to what I'm saying. _It's okay _." He heavily emphasized the last two words.

What the hell was he talking about? Did he mean to say the words the way they came out? "…Uh…it's okay because you already knew I was damaged and a sloppy drunk or okay because it's okay because you kinda know how I feel, okay?"

"Yeah you are pretty damaged." Sam laughed for the first time in a long time. "Hey, bus is here. I gotta go." Dean heard the crackling of their connection being lost as Sam stepped onto the bus.

"Wait. Sam –" There was so much more that needed to be said, so many things they needed to discuss, but he could tell they were about to lose reception.

"Yup?" The word crackled as the line threatened to cut out.

"Room 215."

"…I know."

–

He opened the door before Sam had a chance to rap his knuckles against the faded wood. The bright morning sun just about blinded Dean's sensitive eyes after sitting in the dark for so long. He noted Sam's rumpled appearance; the way the bags under his eyes showed deep purple, how his shoulders slumped forward with exhaustion. From what Dean could tell it looked like Sam had as great a night as he did.

"Oh, hey." Sam dropped his hand back to his side when he was suddenly nose-to-nose with Dean.

"Saw the bus pull up." He explained stepping back from the doorway. He gestured with his hand for him to come in.

Sam awkwardly nodded and heaved his bag into the room setting it against the wall. "I, ah, have to go to the bathroom, if that's okay…"

"Yeah. Course. Well, ya know where it is." He pointed towards the door at the other end of the room. He watched as Sam swiftly shuffled his feet into the tiny, confined area, quietly shutting the door behind him.

'Well this is going to be fucking awkward as hell.' Dean thought as he leaned against the wall. He flexed his fingers trying to relieve the nerves. He needed to calm down. It was just Sam. No big deal.

He grabbed a discarded gun off the table and distractedly started to take it apart piece by piece.

He should have asked Sam on the phone what exactly he was feeling. What did he think of the kiss? Did he hate it? Was he just shocked? If Sam hated it, Dean wished he had told him right away. Wished Sam had just come straight out and said that the whole idea of the two of them together like that was just plain wrong - it would have made things easier letting him down right off the bat, to squash the hope of possibility before his mind had the chance to fantasize any further. Teasing him like this wasn't fair.

Dean jumped when the toilet flushed. He couldn't remember being this nervous before. He'd rather go one-on-one with a pissed off Wendigo than have to discuss what was coming, to face the truth…

The door quietly clicked open and Sam stepped out of the bathroom with his pink toothbrush lazily hanging out of his mouth. "How come there's no little shampoo bottles left?" He mumbled.

"I dunno." What the hell kind of question was that?

"Maid come today?" Sam continued to stand there moving the toothbrush in and out of his mouth.

"No."

The small talk was ridiculous. But leave it to Sam to slowly creep his way into the hardcore talking as if he could catch Dean off guard enough to spill his innermost feelings.

He felt his stomach rumble and realized with a stab of hunger that it'd been a few days since he had properly eaten. "Hey, you hungry?" Dean called over his shoulder knowing that Sam wasn't – he never was.

Sam shrugged. "Not really." He tilted his head up when he spoke so the toothpaste didn't slide out of his mouth. "But if you are we could go out for breakfast or somethin'." He turned back into the bathroom and spat into the sink.

It was Dean's turn to shrug this time. "Nah. I guess I'm not really all that hungry, either," he lied and continued to polish the handle of the small pistol wondering how long they'd avoid the real topic of conversation.

"Well, I know _you _are. You only ever ask me that if you want something yourself."

"You think you know everything." Dean spat like an infuriated toddler not even knowing what the hell he meant by it.

Sam didn't let the burst of agitation throw him. His face remained calm, _serene _even as he screwed on the tiny toothpaste cap. "I'm sorry I left last night."

Oh Christ, here it comes…

Sam flipped off the bathroom light and casually walked over to the bed. "Sorry I made you worry," he took off his shoes with an audible sigh.

Dean stopped fiddling and dropped the gun on the table. He turned around to lean against the wall.

A smile twitched at the corners of Sam's lips and he patted the spot next to him on the bed.

Dean didn't really feel like he had a choice so he slowly trudged his way over to the bed and begrudgingly sat down besides Sam, feeling like in a matter of seconds everything was going to be brought to the surface. Things were going to change - for better or for worse, he couldn't tell.

"So…" Dean hated how awkward he felt, how he seemed to have lost all control of the situation. "What made you come back?" He glanced sideways at his brother.

"Besides the 'not having any money' thing?" Sam smiled nervously, "you know we have to talk…about everything."

"Mm-hmm." Dean nodded his head and kept his eyes busy with examining the cut along his thumb.

"I…" Sam started to softly laugh, "I actually thought about never talking to you again after last night. You got me so pissed when you slammed me against the wall." Sam's face fell as he pondered over the memory of last night.

Dean nodded. He wasn't going to apologize. Sam deserved it that time.

"While I was walking to the bus station I passed this river – ya know the one on Jackson Street? Well, I went to throw my phone in so I wouldn't have to keep listening to you callin' me, but out of nowhere this big dog comes running towards me - barkin' like crazy. I almost shot the damn thing full of rock salt – thought it was a Black Dog, but it was just some stray…"

He was rambling which meant he was nervous. Dean didn't care though. He wanted Sam to ramble for as long as he needed. The more he rambled about useless shit the longer they were able to ignore the subject.

"I thought for a long time about everything," Sam continued on as if they were casually discussing the weather. "I thought about what you said. About Stanford and everything." He scratched his nose. "I made a list on the bus."

"A list?" Dean's ears finally perked up with intrigue.

"Yeah. Pros and cons of hunting." He took the rumpled piece of paper out of his pocket.

Dean snorted. "You never fail to amaze me, Sam."

"It helps clear my head," he replied defensively.

"Yeah, well, you're a freak." He looked at Sam's face and smiled adoringly. "Hey, remember that one hunt we went on with dad?" He picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans, "you were probably fourteen or something and we were hunting that werewolf or whatever it was? You made a list of reasons why we shouldn't kill it? Spare its life for the sake of humanity and all that crap?"

Sam snickered and bit his lip, "yeah, Dad chewed me out pretty good for that. Tore the paper into tiny pieces and made me shoot the damn thing myself."

"Yeah." Dean smiled.

They both sat reminiscing about a memory that had long passed; it was strange how fluidly they eased back into normal - just as swiftly as they toppled back out.

"When, um, when you…" Sam touched his fingers to his lips, indicating the incident with the kiss, but trailed off not finishing the thought.

Dean looked up to see what Sam was talking about but missed the gesture entirely.

"I didn't know that's what's been going on." He stated quietly. "I didn't know that's what you felt."

Dean zoned him out by listing off the different Winchester rifles in his head.

"How come you never told me?"

_How come you never told me? _The question hung in the air waiting for someone to snatch it down with a reply.

Seriously? Did he really have to name the reasons? How could Sam still not know? Stanford, I mean, you'd think the kid was smart.

Dean eventually looked up to meet Sam's eyes. He gave him a look that conveyed beyond spoken words or any phrase of the lips as to why he never braved to tell him the truth. He didn't need to say the words aloud because he knew Sam understood. And that? Well, that was enough for the both of them.

Sam's arm came to rest around Dean's back. His hand pressed heavily against his shoulder, giving him a slight squeeze of assurance that _'I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere.' _

For once Dean didn't flinch away; he didn't shrug off the touch. He eased into Sam's warmth, liking the feeling of comfort he provided. He wanted to ask Sam how he could stand to sit next to him. How could he even stand to touch him? But there was no disgust in his eyes, not even a trace of trepidation. Just concern.

"I keep wanting to make sure you're okay," Sam said quietly, "I just want to be there for you, but you make it so damn difficult. You're so stubborn." He rubbed his hand methodically over Dean's broad back. His fingers pressed into the sore tissue, sweetly massaging away weeks of pent up stress and anxiety. "You think you're the only one whose job it is to protect our family."

"Because I'm old—"

"Four years older doesn't give you a monopoly," he snapped. "I'm capable of protecting people too, Dean. I can take care of you. I _want _to. So just let me, okay? Don't shut me out like that ever again."

Dean noticeably shivered as Sam pulled him in for a hug, wrapping another protective arm around his shoulder. He wasn't fully comfortable when Sam embraced him like this – which was a true testament to how demented his brain actually was - but he didn't move away. He let Sam hold him with his head tucked under his neck, breathing hotly against his skin.

A small noise escaped Dean's throat when Sam tenderly pressed his lips to the soft spot behind his ear.

Dean slowly turned to face Sam with searching eyes. He momentarily discarded the inhibitions, the logical fear, the doubt. His brain told him to run for it but his lips betrayed his self-control and bumped into Sam's on their own accord.

It was the second time he found himself in the same predicament; though this time he wasn't worrying about what Sam was thinking. He had so many goddamn things to worry about with himself that he didn't have anything left to worry about anyone else. So he didn't pull back. He selfishly pressed on. Touching him like that was staggering, of course, and eight different types of sensational, but it was also unpleasant; not because it was filled with confusion and unfamiliarity – which it was - but because Sam was about to speak and his "o" shaped mouth fit messily around Dean's plump lips.

He knew he should be pulling away. But he couldn't. He knew Sam shouldn't taste so good. But he did. He really,_really _did.

Dean pressed on for the clarification he so desperately needed, grinding his lips into Sam's as if the harder he pushed the faster Sam would answer back.

Everything he felt was entirely expected – the passion that leapt up inside his chest threatening to push him too far, the wetness of their mouths, the cold shiver that shot up his spine… though what he wasn't expecting was Sam's tongue to fleetingly dart into his mouth, for their tongues to meld together…

_For Sam to kiss back. _


	5. Chapter 5

Dean unlocked his lips the moment Sam's mouth pushed back on his. "Sorry." He subconsciously wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Why'd you stop?" Sam's voice was low and raspy.

Dean's eyes went wide. Confusion was an understatement. He felt like he was in the fucking twilight zone or something. He stared at his brother, waiting for everything to make sense. "I don't…what?"

Sam looked at him with the widest, goofiest smile on his face, like he was in on some hilarious joke Dean knew nothing about.

Dean waited for his brain to kick back into action. He tried to formulate a sentence in his head but failed numerous times before he was able to stammer out an actual thought. "Because of last night? What, you just wanted to try it again for kicks? I don't get it."

"No, not because of last night." Why Sam looked so hurt Dean couldn't figure out. "I've been wanting to. For a while now. I just didn't know that the feelings were, well, _mutual _."

"Mutual." Dean repeated the word like it was foreign vocabulary.

Sam nodded and smiled, a devious glint in his eye, and he quickly pecked the side of Dean's mouth. It was an experimental kiss. A kiss you give someone when you're twelve years old and you've just realized you like someone with feelings you never even knew you had. It's that quick jolt of adventure and unpredictability of doing something that seems so against the rules, though the fact that it is so wrong is what fuels the fire and you can't help but try it a few more times.

Sam tilted his head back to its previous position and kissed Dean with quick, jarring snips of the lips - playground stuff, just testing. After a handful of presses, Sam pulled back, a wide grin stretched across his lips.

"What the hell, Sam?" The bellowed words clamored loudly against the walls.

"What?" Sam suddenly looked petrified, like he did something wrong.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner? You just didn't feel the need to share with the class or what?"

Sam looked at Dean like he had a third arm growing out of his head. "You're kind of emotionally retarded, you know that?" He wanted to laugh because it was the absolute truth, but the fact that Dean had turned all this back on him is what wiped the smile from his face. "I didn't tell you because it's not really something you bring up in casual conversation, Dean." His brows furrowed together as he continued on, "not to mention you've been pissed off and screaming at me for the past month! Having someone put you down all the time sorta kills the moment! I mean, how the hell was I supposed to know that in your deranged mind ignoring someone means that you're flirting!" He ran a hand through his hair pushing the bangs away from his eyes.

"And you are shouting at me because…?" Dean smirked.

Sam smiled back and dropped his eyes. "I don't know."

A tiny moment of silence passed and Sam's cheeks started to redden. "I didn't tell you," he continued with a softer tone, "because I didn't know what the hell was going on with you until yesterday at the hunt. And even then I thought it was just wishful thinking, like I was trying to find a reason to justify my feelings…and I'm sorry I left you last night. It was a mistake. I wanted to believe that you meant to do that but I was scared that you were just drunk."

"…Really?" Dean's lips curled up into a grin.

Sam laughed. "Yeah. Really."

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding since Sam had walked through the door. Maybe he and Sam really _did_stand a chance. And it wasn't a snowball' chance in hell; it was an actual, feasible, honest to God chance. "Oh, Sammy, we are so going to Hell."

"Yeah but we already knew that, I guess."

"But now it's like sure fire, without a doubt, almost definitely that we're already registered down there."

"Yeah I know." He licked his lips. "God, Dean. Our family is so messed up."

"Hey. I would take our family over anyone else's any day." It was the honest to God truth. Yeah their family was a bit…off, but they were a family; Sam was his family and dysfunctional or not it was the best goddamn picture of perfection he could possibly imagine.

"Well…what do we do now?"

Dean shook his head because the hell if he knew. There wasn't really a formal playbook with a set handout of what to do when starting a romantically involved relationship with your brother. "I don't know," he honestly admitted. "Is this really what you want?"

"Why? You don't?"

"No, I just wanna make sure I didn't push you into this."

"You didn't. Of course you didn't. But what's goin' on with you? It's like you're freaking out or something."

Why the morals began to set in now, he had no idea. Pretty inconvenient considering the massive hurdle they'd just overcome. He couldn't help it though – the panic that leapt up inside. "I dunno, man. I just…" He scratched the back of his head and stood up to pace the floor. "I don't know if this is right. You're my pain in the ass little brother. I should be, I dunno, watching out for you, protecting you, not feeling you up, that's for damn sure." He looked with eyes narrowed at Sam's giggling face. "Why the hell are you laughing?"

"I'm not. It just sounded funny."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"You're making me nervous." He explained.

"Which is exactly my point. This is all wrong." He waved his hand as if clearing away bad vibes.

"So what, that's it?" It was Sam's turn to stand up now.

"I dunno." But he _did _know. Even if the act was wrong he wouldn't turn away – selfishness was part of his makeup. Dean paced back and forth like a clock pendulum, slowly stepping from the opened bathroom door to the front of the television set.

"You seriously want to go back to the way things were? What, we just ignore our feelings and move on? We'll just go back to not talking to each other, fighting when we _do _talk? Sorry, Dean, but I can't do that." He was freaking out now with nothing but terror in his eyes.

Dean cursed himself for the rollercoaster he continued to send Sam on. Was it some freak subconscious kink he had? Did he get off on seeing Sam go from elation to devastation in the blink of an eye? He began to scratch at his chin. "I don't like that idea anymore than you do, Sam, but what do you want me to say? Huh? Does this feel right to you?" He planted his feet firmly in front of the bed and looked down at his brother.

Sam took a breath and smiled so slightly Dean had to look twice to catch it. "Yeah" he sounded partially annoyed. "It does."

"This is crazy." Dean shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face in aggravation.

"So when I touched you, it felt wrong?" He said the words loudly, challenging Dean to rise to the plate.

"No" he answered him immediately. "It felt perfect."

That was all the ammo Sam needed. He strode across the floor slipping his hand behind Dean's head before smashing their lips together. Dean tried to tilt his head away, tried to hold off the touch, but the harder he pulled away, the stronger Sam pushed back.

Once awareness set in that Sam really _did _want this, that he was okay with it and not just pulling a pity party for the sake of Dean's loneliness, Dean gave himself over to temptation. He swapped positions with Sam, rotating their bodies in one swift step pressing his brother firmly against the nearest wall. His hand snaked up Sam's warm back; his other hand cupped his face, holding him in place so his lips could do the work. The movement of their lips started out slow as they tried to familiarize each other's dips and angles. He licked Sam's bottom lip ever so slightly, imprinting the feel of the curve of his mouth into his memory bank for future reference.

The kiss, which started out timid and careful, quickly turned to aggressive nips and hard smashes of their mouths. Their lips hastily crawled along each other's bodies, scavenging for any unclothed area they could find. Dean felt this insatiableness that rocked his core. It was like it didn't matter how many kisses he would receive - it wouldn't be enough. Nothing would be enough. He was hungry and needy and he felt like devouring Sam. He slammed hard into his mouth, not caring that Sam's teeth dug sharply into his lip.

Having Sam's tongue against his own made him twitch so hard with an overpowering surge of delight that he had to control himself to not come right there. He loved the way Sam tasted, how his mouth fit perfectly against his own. He'd been waiting for this. Wanting this for so fucking long and now he finally had it.

'Just a kiss' Dean thought. He never believed that something so simple, so _basic _, as a kiss could feel so damn good. It was pure ecstasy and happiness and sheer mind-blowing elation all rolled up into one beautifully constructed package. It was comfort. It was home. And it tasted like Sam.

Warm drops lightly tickled his flushed cheeks. He didn't know where the wetness came from, whose tears had fallen, until he moved his lips from Sam's mouth down to his neck and he was able to sneak a glance at his brother's face. Sam's eyes were bone dry, which meant he, himself, had to be the one whose eyes were shining with tears. It wasn't that he was crying exactly - definitely not. It was just that he was… well, okay, he was crying. Not on purpose though, he wasn't _sobbing _or anything stupid like that. He didn't even realize that his tears had betrayed his calm exterior until he tasted the salty wetness as he nipped along Sam's collarbone. He just hoped Sam hadn't notice, though most likely, he had realized it first.

It actually felt good to let go of everything – to let go of inhibition and to give himself over to lust; to not care how hard his tears fell. It almost felt like freedom. Not that he'd been a caged animal in a tiny cell, imprisoned and secluded – but more that he'd been enclosed inside _himself _for the past years. The tears were a final release from all the agony and discrepancy he had felt ever since, well, ever since these feelings for Sam arose, ever since that car ride home on Interstate 15. The tears were a release of years of pent up want. Of ravenous, unquenchable desire for something you truly believe you will never have.

Dean's hand played with the frayed hem on Sam's sweatshirt. For once in his life, in the middle of toying with sexual frustration, he had no idea what to do. If this were his normal gig, the girl would have already been naked on the bed stupidly giggling his name. But this was different. This was way, _way _out of his element – unconquered territory – that's exactly what this was. And he was scared, terrified even. It was Sam – _his _Sam – and he didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want to hurt him, scare him, or worse, push him away. So he stood there like a complete geek with his hand nervously fingering Sam's hoodie – that is until Sam whipped off his shirt discarding it somewhere near the nightstand and forcefully pushed Dean down onto the hard mattress. He crawled up the bed, kneeling over Dean's frame nibbling on his ear as he tried to undo his belt buckle.

It was a side of Sam Dean obviously never got to experience before. He inwardly smirked at his brother's fervency. This whole take-control-I'm-so-freaking-horny-fuck-me-now attitude that Sam now suddenly possessed was extremely satisfying to watch. He moaned from the back of his throat. "Sam, I want to feel you. Now._Please_."

Sam wasn't used to hearing Dean beg like that, it caught him completely off guard. He tried to move quickly, as if he knew what the hell he was doing, and fumbled with his zipper.

"Have you ever… with a guy?" Dean panted as he undid the buttons on his shirt, liking the feeling of Sam straddling his hips.

"No…you?" Sam breathed helping him get the shirt over his head, trailing kisses along Dean's jaw at the same time.

Dean shook his head. "Just you…only you." Dean reached under Sam's body, trying to find his zipper. He pulled Sam's jeans down and gripped the back of his neck tightly, forcing Sam's lips to meet his own. His twisted their bodies as Sam kicked his clothes to the floor, and flipped on top of him wanting to take back control. "Ever thought about doing this? With me?" Dean rushed the words.

"Uh-huh. Lots." Sam's voice was thick and raspy. Dean moved his hand over Sam's chest, moving his palms down his stomach to the waistband of his boxers. He started to pull at the material when Sam's hand suddenly grabbed his own.

"What? You okay?" Dean asked when he noticed the fear in Sam's eyes.

"I don't know." His breath came out in short gasps, his pupils still wide with passion.

"Sammy, I'm not going to hurt you. I won't make you do anything you don't want to. I promise." He kissed from the base of his neck to the bottom of his lip.

"I know, it's just I don't think I can do this. I can't." He finished lamely.

"What?" Dean sat up on Sam's hips.

"No, I mean I _can _, I just can't. Right now. I want to be sure. I mean I am sure. I'm really, _really _, sure. I just, I need to think this through." He winced slightly at having all of Dean's weight on his waist.

"Think this through?" Dean repeated in monotone voice as fear rose up inside him, quickly turning into anger. "You need to think_ what _through, Sam? What's to think through? It's not that hard of a concept to understand. Here, I'll show you." He sat up on his knees and pressed his hand firmly around Sam's dick.

"No! Dean. Hold on…"

"Christ." He sighed, and slipped his legs out from around Sam and threw himself down on the mattress.

Sam sat up and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. "Just give me a minute." He said shakily.

Dean scooted a few inches away from him, unsure whether he should touch him or not. "Are you okay? You're not gonna pass out on me are ya?" He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He _knew _this was going to happen. Maybe Sam was lying and the feelings really weren't shared. He knew Sam didn't need him, not like _he _needed Sam.

"This is all happening so fast and I don't want to regret this." The words stumbled over each other as his breath started to hitch. He noticed the way Dean's body went stiff. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I know I won't regret it, I just, what if _you _do and then what happens? God, I don't even know what I'm trying to say. I just… can we… I'm sorry." He dropped his hands to his lap looking utterly miserable.

Dean exhaled a long, slow breath, trying to be sympathetic to what Sam was feeling. "Why does everything have to be all logical and thought out? Come on, Sammy. What happened to 'this feels right'? Let's just go with it." He bent his head to press his mouth against Sam's chest.

"Dean. Please." He pushed his head away. "Just give me a minute."

"…How you ever got laid is way beyond me." He joked lightly to make the situation less stressful, less embarrassing. "You're such a geek, I'm almost embarrassed for you." He put his hands up in mock horror. "Ah! No! Don't blow me yet! I have to check the velocity of the distance of my dick."

"That doesn't even make sense," Sam laughed.

"Yeah, well, let me know when you figure out what the hell you want." He tilted his head to stare at the blank wall.

"Just give me a little time."

Dean sighed, his tense face crestfallen, "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Sammy." He turned his head to smile at him, his wide grin a little too forced.

Sam gave Dean's thigh a quick squeeze before walking over to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower." He grabbed one of the towels off the floor and walk into the room not bothering to shut the door behind him.

"Don't take up all the hot water!" He called after him.

It didn't jar him that much, not the way he thought it would – that Sam needed more time. He was disappointed, sure, and his damn erection was making it hard to breathe, but it was okay because the fact that Sam needed more time to think meant that he was taking it seriously. That he was taking _them _seriously. It meant that he wanted it to work; which also meant that both of them were on the same page for the first time in a long time.

It was amazing how easily they fell into step, how natural the interaction between them felt. It wasn't like anything changed at all. Well it _had _changed but only very slightly and only for the best. If you basically reversed the tables two months back before Dean started acting like a dick and things weren't at all awkward and then added in the touching and the possibility of sex and there you had it – same as always.

He tapped his foot against the wall, flipping mindlessly through the channels while he listened to the water run. 'So this is it.' He thought. All the worrying, all the pain, the secrets, the lies… it all was wasted time - wasted time that he could have been spending with Sam. He wondered if Sam really did think about him as often as he had led on. How far back did the feelings go? Was Stanford an attempt to disconnect his feelings for the sake of his sanity or did he only recently stumble upon the idea of furthering the relationship with him? So many questions and things to eventually pan out, but right now he couldn't care less about technicality and organized plans. He just wanted to enjoy the moment. Enjoy the fact that things were actually starting to work out. For once in his life it wasn't total chaos and getting kicked when you're down. He was happy.

His ears focused on the running water through the pipes and instantly brought his attention back to Sam and the way his hipbones jutted out the top of his jeans…

'Jeans' the thought randomly correlated with the thought of his cell phone. 'What the hell did I do with my damn phone?' He reached down over the side of the bed grabbing for his own pair and padded the pocket expecting to find his cell, but remembered he'd left it in his other pair of jeans on the bathroom floor when he had changed his clothes before Sam's bus pulled up.

He rolled off the bed, still only clad in his boxer-briefs and padded over to the sink.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was muffled from the water.

"Yeah, it's just me. Needed to get my, uh, phone." If only he had the ability to see through walls – well in this case shower curtains. Maybe if he quietly snuck inside the shower and caught Sam by surprise he could get the ball rolling again.

"Your what?"

"Phone." He said louder.

"What is your phone doing in the bathroom?"

"Beats me."

There was a short pause in which neither of them moved.

"Hey can you hand me the soap off the sink? I forgot there's no shampoo or anything." Sam's voice sounded kind of strange and Dean wondered what that meant.

"Uh…yeah, sure." He grabbed the tiny bar off the ceramic sink. "Should I like toss it to ya?" He didn't know what would make Sam uncomfortable. He didn't want to invade his privacy if he really needed some time alone.

Sam peeked out from behind the curtain. He looked a little crazed with his hair sticking up in all directions. "I'm not a prude. You don't have to stand ten feet away from me." He held out his hand for Dean to come near. "Thanks." He took the soap and started running the bar over his tanned arms.

"Welcome." He started to turn but noticed Sam was staring at him. "What?"

"Nothin'…" He smiled and continued to stare.

"Oookay." Dean eyed him suspiciously and went to step away but Sam gripped his arm tightly. He pulled Dean so close to his mouth that Dean had to place one foot inside the tub to keep from falling forward. He was left dizzy when their lips disconnected. "What was that for?"

Sam looked a little embarrassed. "Just wanted to…is that okay?"

"Hell yeah. Why wouldn't it be?" He gently grabbed the back of Sam's neck and pulled him down for another kiss. With their lips pressed together, Sam continued to pull and Dean continued to step and slowly but surely they were eventually standing chest to chest with the water running down their faces.

Dean suddenly noticed a large, speckled bar of soap in the corner of the shower. "You already _had _soap, you liar!" He said with astonishment. "Samuel Winchester. You sneaky son of a bitch, you did that on purpose!" His right eye squinted as the water ran down his face.

Sam smiled widely. "Apparently I learned from the best."

"And who would that be?" He kissed Sam's neck, his shoulders, and chest with such ease as if they'd done it a million times before.

"Some guy named Dean …" He twisted his fingers through the end's of Dean's hair.

"So this Dean guy…he's a pretty awesome guy, am I right?" He looked up and winked.

"An arrogant ass, actually." Sam tried to look serious, but failed miserably.

Dean paused to think about this. "Hot though."

Sam tilted his head from left to right. "Eh… a little on the short side…Oof!" Dean's hand punched him straight in the stomach. "Ouch. That hurt."

Dean went to say something clever and hurtful – something about Sam being a delicate flower - but considering where they were, and what they were doing, he thought better of it. "Sorry." He softly pressed his lips to Sam's shoulder. "Love you." His body jerked to a sudden halt. Where the hell did _that _come from? The words had spilled out from some hidden cave of his being without any warning or time to think.

Sam didn't mind the slip. He looked at him with glazed over eyes and Dean had to physically jam his teeth into his lip to keep from saying something stupid. Sam's eyes connected with Dean's and in a flash his tranquil, adoring face was unexpectedly flushed with yearning as he forced himself onto Dean so much so that he was practically on top of him, wrapped around him, nibbling a line along his jaw. He pressed harder against Dean's body and uncontrollably thrust against his hips.

Dean's back smacked against the cold shower tiles. "Thought you wanted to wait?" His eyes just about rolled back with pleasure from the surprise attack and he had to concentrate on breathing which proved almost impossible as to Sam was now moving his hands all over his body. Everywhere.

"I don't think I can wait anymore. I think I'm ready." He hastily whispered the words against Dean's ear making him tremble.

"If you need to wait…"

Sam gripped the band on Dean's boxers and swiftly pulled them down while he sucked Dean's bottom lip into his mouth.

"Okay. Not waiting." Dean's eyes closed tightly. "God, Sam. I don't know what's gotten into you. But I like it" he moaned.

Sam ungracefully slipped on the wet surface when he tried to turn around, falling even further onto Dean. "Sorry" he muttered trying to regain his composure. His self-consciousness caught him by surprise when the realization hit that both he and Dean were naked, that everything was out in the open for everyone to see. His face started to flush.

"Maybe doing this in the shower wasn't such a great idea." Dean said as he helped him get his balance back, smiling at him kindly.

Sam tried to smile back but faltered.

"What's wrong now?" He couldn't help the frustrated tone of his voice. He guessed it was Sam's apprehension that stopped him short, his internal battle of what he wanted verses what terrified him. "It's fine, Sam. We have all day. All week. All of how ever the hell long we want. We don't have to do this right now. Okay?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "O-okay." Normally the ebb and flow of the situation, the going back and forth from high to low would have aggravated Dean to no end. But it didn't. Not with Sam. He wanted him to feel comfortable. He wanted _him _to want it.

"Kinda cold." Sam mumbled almost ashamed as his eyes trailed off watching the water swirl around the drain.

"Bed, then?" He waited for Sam's nod of approval than wrapped an arm around him to help them both keep from breaking a leg while they moved from the slippery motel shower to the water covered bathroom floor. "I don't know about you but I'm so freaking tired."

–

They were both distracted, both partway dressed as they closed the drapes and turned off the TV.

As Dean slid under his bed near the window, he watched as Sam made his way over to the bed near the bathroom – the one Sam slept in the night before. The sight left Dean with a feeling of detachment and doubt. He felt hurt that Sam didn't trust him enough to come over and lay with him. Was Sam scared of him? Did he think that he would make it all into a joke, that Dean would make fun of him? Was it just too much too fast? It confused Dean, not knowing where Sam's comfort lines were drawn. How close was too close?

He went to say something but the conversation never took place; as fast as the confusion arose it was over and Sam was crawling onto the mattress and under the sheets with the pillow stolen from his own bed. His body curled up against Dean's side as he took his brother's arm and draped it around his waist before Dean even had a chance to think of an excuse as to why they shouldn't cuddle. He smiled and faintly pressed his lips to Sam's cold collarbone while he ran his hand thorough Sam's damp hair, intertwining the locks between his fingers, twisting the curled pieces at the base of his neck.

Sam yawned. "I'm so tired."

"I know." He yawned contagiously when he eyed Sam's mouth. He flipped off the light that hung down from the headboard, covering the room in vast darkness besides the sun glowing faintly behind the thick curtains. "Can't believe it's only eight in the morning." He said after sneaking a quick glance at the crappy alarm clock.

"I didn't get any sleep last night."

"Yeah, same here."

Sam played with Dean's hand, staring at his palm like it was composed of an intricate design. "Thanks for being so patient with me." He twisted Dean's ring in a circular motion around his finger.

"There's no rush, Sam. I'm just happy…" That what? He wanted to say a million things: I'm happy you chose me. Happy that you want to spend time with me. Happy that you accept me for me with all the pigheadedness and angry tantrums and shutting you out. Happy that I have you in my life, that you're a great brother, a great person… He never finished his sentence because he didn't have the strength to speak the words out loud. So he just stayed silent.

Sam bent up to kiss Dean's cheek, understanding too well the words Dean couldn't say. The action made him jump. Dean felt like an idiot – twitching like that in reaction to affection – it was just strangely unfamiliar. He wasn't used to having that adored touch – to have someone care about him like that. He didn't know he needed this, not this badly. Not until now. It was ridiculous how fierce the feelings clawed at his insides. He could never go back to how things used to be. Even if Sam wanted to walk away right this minute he could never let him go.

He shifted his body so he was face to face with Sam and kissed his lips tenderly, making a popping noise as their mouths parted. He was being careful for once, gentle even. Only for Sam would he discard his own pleasure to make sure they both felt at ease.

Sam leaned into the touch, gripping his neck, thumbing his finger over Dean's chest, moving his hands across the golden skin. He kissed him sporadically, lingering on the corner of his lip.

"Don't leave" Dean mumbled around Sam's mouth. He hated that he said it, that he needed Sam to hear it.

Sam pulled back to look in his eyes. He couldn't remember a time when Dean looked so vulnerable, so young. "I'm not going anywhere." He didn't know if he meant right now or just in general but either way it was the truth. His eyes clamped shut already bracing himself still unsure how they got to this place, still undecided as to if they should continue but his erection throbbed uncomfortably hot as Dean's grip only got harder.

For all Dean's practicality and realistic way in which his brain ticked, the fact that they were brothers didn't matter. It didn't feel wrong, in fact in felt natural. Not natural like breathing or riding a bike – natural like meant to be. Like extraordinary. "Mmm. Sammy, do that again." He hummed when Sam delicately bit down on his nipple. "Should have done this sooner." He felt Sam's warm breath tickle his neck as he laughed against his skin.

"Would have done it sooner…" His voice caught in his throat when Dean's lips hit a soft spot on his neck, "if I knew you weren't gonna punch me." He slipped his tongue into Dean's mouth, touching it softly, coaxing it to into his own. "Not scared anymore." The words were a reassurance to both of them.

Dean let his hands roam and squeeze the vast expanse of slick, golden skin, mouth slack as his eyes wandered from limb to limb. He was being tender and compassionate and Sam wanted none of it. Not now. Not when he knew Dean was holding back for the sake of him. So with a little trace of a whine in his voice he uttered the word "rougher" and Dean was more than happy to oblige, taking Sam's mouth into a deep battle of lips and tongue and teeth, making him hiss slightly when the bites got too sharp.

Dean smiled smugly; knowing the pleased look on Sam's face was all his doing. His hand moved down to cup Sam's dick, running his thumb along the hipbone, teasing him with bruising presses, knowing that the marks would last for hours. He abruptly lifted his head to look Sam in the eye; dipping his body closer to whisper in his ear. "I want you in me." He swallowed heavily.

Sam just about choked on his own tongue, blinking his eyes to steady his breath, trying to keep from coming on Dean with no explanation. "Dean I…I dunno." He winced when Dean pressed a large hand along his thigh. "Don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't. Don't worry, Sam. You're not that big." He smirked only half joking, too terrified to think straight. All he knew was he wanted Sam as close as he could get him. He needed to feel him, needed to know that he was real, that _this _was real, that he was really here. He slipped his hands past the waistband of Sam's boxers, trying to help with eager tugs, pulling down the fabric but the movement was to foreign, too messy. "Sammy I'm serious. Can't hold on…" he winced "much longer." He knew their first time was going to be weird and messy and fast. Not to mention painful. But he'd wanted this for too long. He couldn't wait any longer. "_Please_."

It was the begging that got to Sam. He didn't like to hear Dean plead like that, to hear him in pain, so he rotated his body pinning Dean to the sheets, brushing his body against the skin before coming to a rest pressed against his stomach, liking the sense of thrill it provided, the way Dean whimpered when he slipped a hand around his back, pushing harder, bringing them closer. There was a rambling of words against flesh, as Sam placed his hands over Dean's and pulled the clothes down and away from him, Dean mimicking the same motion.

Dean felt the rough push of his shoulders into the mattress as Sam's weight slid down his skin, his heated chest cloaking his own like a protective blanket with the ability to thrust like a goddamn machine. He tried to wrack his brain for something they could use for lube when he realized, _hello you moron, you have some in your bag, which is right the hell behind you on the goddamn nightstand. _So without turning around, one hand thrown sideways he awkwardly gripped for the small tube in the open side-pocket. He made sure to not take the focus off pleasing Sam as he roamed his body with grunts and murmurs, kissing with reassured touch.

Sam accepted the tiny tube with quick fingers. "Let me know when you're ready." He softly spoke the words as he coated his fingers, getting a nod of assurance in return. He did what only felt natural and stuck two slick fingers inside of him, praying to God that this was okay. Sam pressed his lips to the base of Dean's neck. He twisted his fingers inside him, hitting the right spot before thrusting them quickly.

Dean grunted with the sudden movement but slowly eased into it, a pleased, throaty noise sounded from deep in his chest.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" He glanced up through a mask of unkempt bangs, fingertips roughly rubbing against the stubble of Dean's upper lips, his neck, his jaw.

A fast "mmmhmm" was about all Dean could mumble at the moment, the fleshy part of his cheek still red from Sam's mouth. He gasped clenching harder onto Sam. "Fuck. Holy fuck." He squeezed his eyes shut and let the feeling take control. The thrust of Sam's fingers sent an unexpected wave through his body that made him tremble as he reached to grip Sam's waist pulling him deeper, closer, had him buckling his hips.

"Sorry." Sam repeated over and over kissing his shoulder.

"Don't apologize." He forced out an exhaled breath. "M'ready. Fuck. Sammy, hurry up."

Sam shifted into a better position, whispering incoherently as he dragged his fingers against Dean's skin on the way out making both of them shiver. Sam continued to say Dean's name with a roughness to his voice he couldn't quite control.

Dean's eyes went wide when Sam finally slid into him. It was a feeling he couldn't put into words. It really did hurt like hell but the pain was more than worth it because the pleasure he got from feeling Sam that close to him was like comfort personified. "Mmm again. Yeah. Just like that."

Sam wiggled his hips moving closer into Dean. "…You okay?" His eyes glassed over as he said the words. He didn't think he could pull out if he tried. He wanted to stay in him, like that, forever. Never to move again.

Dean moaned, his fingers clamped down in the sheets.

Sam didn't know if the noise was out of pleasure or pain or both so he kept going. Kept kissing him as if it was the medicine that would stop the discomfort, lost in a rhythm that Dean was quick to pick up on. It was desperate between them, too much desire stifled for far too long to make it properly last. They both felt it. Both secretly hopeful and slightly ashamed and wondering if the other would let it happen again.

Dean's forehead rested against Sam's shoulder as he sucked in a short breath. "Ow. God. Sam." He clenched his teeth and gripped Sam's arm tight enough to leave a red blotch. He gasped as Sam thrust up into him. "Talk to me. Keep talking." He jerked against him with every thrust, his taut muscle trying to compensate.

Sam murmured Dean's name against his chest, his lips connecting with warm, damp skin. "You're beautiful." His toes curled up. "Fuck I love you. Always have." His body trembled as he gingerly pushed Dean's hand away, taking Dean's cock in his own grasp, helping him with each thrust. "Can't…much longer."

"Me either." Without a moment's pause he felt Sam spill inside him igniting every nerve with pleasure and ecstasy. He knew his release was coming and for the first time he didn't try to brace himself. He let Sam thrust into him one last time before coming. He convulsed against Sam's body, clutching him close, hot and sticky and pressed to his stomach. "Amazing. Fuck that was amazing." He inhaled against Sam's skin. "Sammy you good?" He kissed his temple as Sam slid out of him.

"Mmmhmm." His voice was thick with exhaustion, both of them fell hard against the sheets, panting in short gasps. "So good." He scooted closer to Dean, lazily wrapping an arm across his chest, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. "Love ya." He fanned his hand wide atop Dean's stomach, the sentiment thrown out there, blurted out so suddenly like before.

"Yeah." He swallowed. "Me too." Dean murmured stretching out his cramped muscles.

"Towel?" Sam eventually asked, but Dean shook his head. He didn't care if they were a sticky mess, he didn't want to move, didn't want Sam to get up either. He heaved a relaxed sigh causing Sam's head to rise and fall with the movement of his breath. 'So this is what everyone talks about when they say they were blissfully happy, that they were so in love it fucking hurt…' he mused over the thought. 'Hmm, it all sorta made sense now.'

Love was a funny word. Overused. Too undefined. It didn't really settle right with him, didn't really establish the way he felt. Of course he loved Sam - that was the most obvious thing in the world. He'd always loved him. But people overused the phrase so often that he couldn't help but think that what he and Sam had was different than love; it was more unique, it was special.

Having Sam make love to him was all the incredible things any cliché in the book would fit. But he didn't want to dwell on the sex, not in the way he thought he would – fantasize over all the details, replay the pleasure on repeat… he was too scared. Worried that once the insomnia kicked out and the adrenaline disappeared, they'd look at each other and the situation as a one-time fluke. He didn't dwell on the good because he didn't want to set himself up for the possibility of failure. _'Cuts don't go too deep if you've already prepared 'em with a band-aid' _he thought. He couldn't help the negativity, the defeatist, low self-esteem glasses he saw the world through and knew that was something he needed to work on – as Sam had reminded him on numerous occasions.

He knew the negativity was just a precaution. He was a realist. He knew that everything was going to take a while to pan out. But part of him couldn't help but feel hopeful. Sam was a lot of things but untrustworthy and unfaithful were two things that didn't fit his build. They were together in this for the long haul.

Dean stifled a yawn. "Our first kiss was on the same day we first fucked. That's pretty kinky." He shifted his body, moving Sam off his chest. "Less anniversaries to remember though, so that's a plus."

Sam didn't mind that they'd reverted back to making everything into a punch line. He knew that was the way his brother dealt with things that were too emotionally consuming for him to handle. It was okay because during those brief moments that Dean let his guard down and allowed himself to be held and comforted and just _loved _, those were the moments that belonged only to him. And rare as those moments were, they still existed and he claimed them all.

"By the way, this doesn't make me gay." Dean said the words playfully, teasing with only a hint of challenge in his voice.

Sam looked quite amused. "Uh, I do hope you realize that I am, in fact, a guy?"

"You're just Sam." He shrugged.

"You're such an idiot." He said the words with such adoration that the insult didn't really stick. "Hey, we still have to drive to Georgia. I would say forget it, but Bobby's gonna kill us." The urge to go back to cuddling, to wrap his arm around Dean's waist was overwhelming, but he forced himself to remain still. He didn't know how much touching would be _too _much for Dean; their boundary lines may have been crumbling, but they were still very much present.

"There never was a hunt in Georgia, Sam."

"What? I thought Bobby needed our help while he finished up the demon thing."

"Bobby didn't ask anything. I didn't even talk to Bobby."

"I don't – "

"I lied." He cut him off. "Needed a reason to get out of that hotel room." He turned his head to face Sam, waiting for his words to sink in; when the confused creases of his forehead remained unmoved Dean decided he needed to explain further. "You really don't get it do you?" He flipped over on his back – staring at something other than Sam's concerned face made it easier to blurt out the words. "Being stuck in that room with you, having to be that close but I couldn't do anything about it, it was, well it was pretty damn painful." He uncomfortably scratched his neck and continued to gaze at the tiny cracked line that ran from the ugly cream-colored light fixture on the ceiling to the rusted hinge of the door. "I couldn't _look _at you, man. Watching you breathe at night…" he exhaled a deep breath in response to his own recollection as if the memory of the moment still held the same amount of pain it had caused at the time.

Sam thought back to the past few days, how Dean wanted to keep driving even through the storm, how he was so against staying at the motel, how he needed to be in a separate room. Guilt flooded his veins when comprehension began to set; the attitude over the past few weeks, the irritation…

"I thought that maybe if we were stuck in the car for a long time I'd eventually be able to lay all the cards out on the table. I thought I might have enough balls to tell you everything." He discretely brushed a hand over Sam's stomach, just to make sure he was still there.

"And you chose Georgia as our special destination?" Sam asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Dude." He flipped over on his side. "Georgia's awesome."

"What are you talking about? We've never even been there."

"_You've_ never been there. I have. And man, those were some good times. Let me just say those Civil War reenactment deals are well worth the money - the uniforms may be crap but the girls find 'em hot."

"I don't even want to know." Sam tugged the blankets from underneath Dean's side. He liked having Dean lay next to him. He never realized how unsafe he had felt until now. "So if there was no hunt, what were you gonna to do once we got there?"

"I'd have thought of somethin'." He lifted up his legs so Sam could grab the blankets. "So, uh, Sam…" He began conversationally. "That shower – it was a pretty nice shower, wasn't it?"

"Uh…I guess."

"Maybe we should, ya know, test out the water pressure one more time. Make sure the pipes still work…"

"Night, Dean." Sam rolled over and closed his eyes. "Move over." He kicked his leg back, smacking his heel against Dean's shin. "You're, like, sprawled out over the whole bed." He quickly turned to flip over, plopping his back down on the mattress.

"Ouch! Sam, for Christ's sake!" Dean shoved Sam over with a large hand.

"What?" He sat up to peer at Dean, the outline of his profile barley visible in the dark.

"You can't just flail your giant limbs around like that! Your goddamn elbow practically popped out my shoulder!"

Sam scooted his pillow over a few inches giving Dean a little extra room which was pretty hard to do on a crappy twin bed. "Sorry. I forgot that's your bad arm." He snuggled deeper into the mattress and the feeling of exhaustion became overwhelming. He let his eyes drift shut and was on the verge of falling into a deep sleep when he heard distinct crunching noises coming from the other side of the bed. "Dean?" He turned his head. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Cheetos." He swallowed. "Flamin' hot. Want one?" He tipped the bag down, shaking the cheesy pieces inside.

Sam blindly grabbed for the bag and threw it to the floor. He huffily turned back over, away from his brother, so he wouldn't have to listen to Dean licking his fingers for the next five minutes. He pulled the blankets up to his head, muffling the sound, and let sleep overcome him.

"Sammy?" Dean called after a minute's beat.

"…"

"Sam." He shook his arm.

"What?" He practically hissed the words, aggravated at being brought back from the brink of sleep for the second time.

He smirked broadly. "Is that a rocket in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Sam shoved Dean off the bed with an audible 'thud' and happily gathered the blankets from both sides of the mattress and nestled deeply into the lumpy pillow. He faintly smiled as he listened to his brother get off the floor, grumbling.

Dean slid back under the sheets, not allowing himself to cozy up to Sam's back until Sam's steady breath eventually got heavier and he was sure his brother was fast asleep. He brushed the stubborn bangs to the side of Sam's forehead providing a better glimpse of his fluttering eyelids.

As he lay there it seemed insane how blurred the past three days had been. How less then 48 hours previous he was drinking himself into a coma, worried about Sam who was worrying about him. He sighed, wrapping a possessive arm around his brother's frame. He hoped to God - prayed to whoever the hell was listening - that tomorrow they'd continue on, just like this. It was going to be a challenge, a give and take on both their parts, but he enjoyed the difficulty of it all. And maybe it wasn't perfect – it might never be, but he was okay with that. As long as Sam was willing to stick with him, he was willing to do whatever it would take to make it work.

He stole a quick kiss before rolling over to the other side of the bed, allowing both him and Sam to get a good rest.

The End


End file.
